Oh my word!
by Nival Vixen
Summary: Daily responses to the Word of the Day challenge on Tumblr. All unrelated to each other (unless stated otherwise). Most feature Stiles/Derek as the main ship. Also featured: Peter/Lydia, Allison/Scott, Allison/Isaac, Allison/Scott/Isaac, Kira/Scott, Erica/Boyd, Isaac/Scott, Lydia/Jackson, Malia/Stiles (one-sided). Status set as complete but updated when daily drabbles are finished.
1. Effloresce

**Disclaimer for all chapters:** I don't own Teen Wolf. (If I did, it would be very different.)

...

Word: Effloresce

...

"So this thing is..."

"A demon flower from Hell? Yeah, pretty much," Stiles said, sighing and shrugging at the slow-blossoming flower.

"I was going to say efflorescent," Scott admitted.

"Word of the day toilet paper?" Stiles asked, grinning slightly.

"Yeah. Hey, don't look at me like that, I've got to study where I can!" Scott said, glaring at him half-heartedly while Stiles just laughed in response.

The demon flower kept blossoming and then it started spreading pollen everywhere, making Scott sneeze loudly. He figured it was an automatic response since none of the pollen was actually moving towards him, but floating towards Stiles instead.

"If this isn't sex pollen, I'm going to be so pissed at this flower for ruining my favourite shirt! And even if it is sex pollen, I'm going to be pissed because Derek's not back for another three hours," Stiles grumbled, trying to swipe the pollen off his shirt. "Oh, shit."

"What shit? No, no shitting. There can't be shit. We're on our own and this is not the time for shit to be happening!"

"The pollen's multiplying. Like crazy fast," Stiles added, the dots of pollen seeming to swarm across his shirt as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

"Geez, that's not good. Can you get it off?" Scott asked warily, not exactly willing to move forward in case it stuck to him too.

Stiles muttered, sliding his hands into his sleeves, and after a few awkward minutes of manoeuvring and more muttering, he was standing in the forest sans shirt and pollen. The pollen kept floating towards Stiles' shirt instead of Stiles himself, and they both let out a sigh of relief.

"Hey, have you been working out?" Scott asked, smiling broadly.

"Well, yeah. Derek gets up before 8 on the weekends, and he's actually strict about his exercise routine. Besides, he steals the blanket, so it's either join him or freeze my ass off in bed."

"Aw, he wants to spend time with you! If I tried that with Kira, I think she'd kick my ass," Scott mused.

"Yeah, she definitely would, dude. Come on, let's get out of here before the pollen decides it wants me instead of my shirt," Stiles said, patting Scott's shoulder.

Scott nodded and they jogged back to the Jeep.

"Oh, and Scott? Let's not tell Derek about us trying to defeat the demon flower from Hell, yeah?"

"Dude, I'm not that stupid. He'd kill me for putting you in danger, even if it's just a flower."

Right on cue the flower burst into flames, and Stiles decided that leaving the demon flower alone was the best course of action. He tore out of the forest without looking back, Scott staring over his shoulder and urging Stiles to drive _faster! Shit-shit-shit!_

Later that night when Derek asked if anything interesting had happened while he'd been gone for the weekend, Stiles kept his heartbeat under control and _lied_ for everyone's sake.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Sally

Word: Sally

...

This word's not matching any meanings in my head, because all I keep seeing is the name. Even though there's like 10 different meanings of the word sally (including a eucalyptus tree that looks like a willow), I still can't get sally to look like anything other than Sally. Which brings me to Mustang Sally, for obvious reasons, and did you know it took like ten years for me to kind of realise that Mustang Sally's actually about someone that has a lot of sex? Well, it might not be, I have a bad habit of analysing songs to the point that they no longer make sense - which also happens when I listen to songs too much, but to be fair, listening to Imagine Dragons _Radioactive_ 200 times in one weekend isn't the worst thing I've ever done. Why aren't dragons real anymore, anyway? They should never have been hunted to extinction, and St. George? So not a saint or even saint-worthy. So what if a dragon tried to kill a bunch of villagers? It's not like they were chopping down the dragon's forests and turning their homes into fields with ready-made meals of sheep and cattle - no, seriously, look it up. It's the equivalent of tearing down a grocery store to put in a free all-you-can-eat buffet. People will be confused as all fuck at first, but they'll still go there to eat, because _free food_. And dragons? Yeah, they lost their grocery store, but they gained a buffet, and then they got hunted down for it. Those poor scaly bastards just wanted something to eat. Okay, it's more like Hannibal replaced the grocery store with a free buffet so he could get food. Well, I'm presuming that the villagers ate the dragons, because otherwise, that's just a waste of perfectly good meat, honestly. And if they didn't, could you imagine dragon carcasses just lying around for months decomposing? The smell would've driven them insane. In fact, it's probably their lack of olfactory senses that helped the plague spread: I mean, if you're not affected by the smell of decomposing dragon meat, then you're probably not going to worry about a few rats, right? Boy, did they get that wrong. Good old George probably would've been better off killing the rats instead of dragons.

Stiles gnawed on his pen, glancing from the question at the top of the page "What does sally mean?" to his detailed answer below (it went to the back of the sheet). Eh, Coach probably wouldn't be surprised at the length, and it's not his fault that Coach had taken over English after Mrs. Blake's death (uh, disappearance, he forgot that's what they'd decided on). But still, just to be certain of his A, Stiles drew a small fire-breathing dragon above the question and named it Sally. _Nailed it_.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	3. Scintillate

Word: Scintillate

...

Stiles doesn't know it, but he shines. Not like sparkly vampires or like glitter or anything, but more like sunlight on a lake, like stars in the night sky. At times, Derek's sure that he scintillates at times, going off like a firecracker in the dark, but Stiles doesn't seem to see it the way he does. He doesn't see the sparks that he sometimes emits when he's angry or even just passionate about something, and he doesn't see how each of those sparks reach out to every one of them, drawing them to him. Scott might be the True Alpha, but it's Stiles who brings them together, who _keeps_ them together. He's their spark and Stiles _belongs_ with the pack.

"You can't leave," Derek says, arms folded over his chest as if he's trying to keep his heart inside his body.

"Yes, I can, actually. I'm not sticking around for something else to possess me and try to kill my friends, all right? I don't expect you to understand, Sourwolf, because everyone knows you don't have any friends, but I want mine to live!" he says, glaring and sparks flying.

"They're not going to live if you go!" Derek snaps, more angry that Stiles thinks he doesn't have any friends - that _he's_ not his friend.

It takes a moment for Stiles, who was obviously gearing up for a fight, to realise what Derek's said, and he kind of stares at him in surprise. "Say again, Sourwolf?"

"You belong with the pack, Stiles, and you can't leave. If you leave, then this pack's just going to fall apart at the seams," Derek admits, his voice softer than before. The pure brilliance of Stiles' sparks hurts his eyes, and he lowers his gaze.

"Yeah, 'cause it's really staying together right now," Stiles scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Allison's dead, Ethan's gone, Danny's avoiding us, half the time Kira looks like she doesn't know if she wants to kiss Scott or kill him, Isaac's disappeared to god knows where with Chris, Lydia hasn't left her house for anything apart from school in weeks - _Lydia!_ - and Scott _says_ he doesn't blame me but he looks at me like he's afraid I'm going to snap and kill everyone in sight. Well, when he's not trying to act as if I'm made of glass, that is. Melissa still flinches before she touches me, and my Dad still won't meet my eyes when he looks at me. I _know_ he's thinking the same as everyone else: what if it's not really me anymore?

"I mean, we don't know what the hell happened between me and the nogitsune, and Kira's mum isn't talking, and neither's Deaton - though, seriously, that's not a big surprise 'cause the guy's got vague and cryptic down to an art - and since no one knows what happened, no one trusts me anymore! I can't live like that, I _can't_, Derek, so don't ask me to stay and suffer that."

Derek realises that Stiles means every word, and that there's nothing he can say to keep him in Beacon Hills. He nods briefly, his arms falling to his sides. "Fine. Just, wait, all right? Give me a day."

"Why?" Stiles asks warily.

"Because you're _my spark_, Stiles, and I'm not letting you go," Derek replies firmly.

At his answer, Stiles smiles and shines like the spark he is. This time, Derek can't bring himself to look away.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	4. Coterie

Word: Coterie

...

"You and your little coterie win, all right? I'm done with all of this, and you can all go celebrate with a huge freaking woodland party and invite all your mythical friends!" Stiles snapped, leaving and slamming the door behind him.

Silence reigned for a few minutes after his sudden departure, and then Boyd looked at Derek as if he's the one who fucked it all up, even though Derek's pretty sure he didn't. He didn't want Stiles to _leave_; he was just trying to keep him safe. Stiles was the only human in the pack, and Derek wasn't going to let him risk himself like the rest of them did - there was no way that Stiles would be able to heal from anything they were usually dealt with, not like the werewolves or even Allison with her hunter training. (Derek refused to acknowledge the fact that Lydia dealt with the same things on a regular basis and she was just as unprotected as Stiles when it all boiled down to it, though she still maintained that her heels were weapons.) Stiles was important, that's all, and Derek couldn't bare to lose another important person in his life.

"Uh, you going to go talk to him, Der?" Erica asked cautiously.

Derek made a noise of frustration, growling low in his throat at her question and Boyd's face (and Isaac's pining look at the door), and left the loft after Stiles. He didn't have to go far to find him: Stiles was sitting in his Jeep with his head on the steering wheel.

"Stiles?" Derek called when he was within human hearing range.

"Fuck off."

Stiles didn't even bother lifting his head to answer, and Derek glared at him.

"**No.** What the fuck's your problem, Stiles?" Derek demanded; he'd just left his loft to come to find him because his betas were acting like he'd kicked a puppy, and this wasn't his fault, damn it! He'd been planning on apologising, even though he still didn't think he had to.

"**You!** You think that just 'cause you're a hairy wolf every full moon you have more right to live this life! You were born to it, and what, that makes everyone not a wolf less than you? I wasn't born to this, Derek, _I chose it_, and I'll be damned if I let you tell me what to do!" Stiles snapped, finally looking at him, even though it was through the window.

"So you want to be killed then? Fine, go ahead!"

"Of course I don't want to be killed, you fucking idiot! I just don't want to be left behind!" Stiles yelled, letting out a scream of frustration and kicking and punching, and almost knocking himself out in the process.

Derek knew that he shouldn't laugh, especially not when he saw how angry Stiles was, but he couldn't stop a grin from forming. "I guess I don't need to worry about you being killed by some sort of horrible monster. You're more likely to kill yourself just by being alive."

Stiles' anger cooled to a simmer when he saw that Derek was grinning, and he scowled at him half-heartedly. "Fuck you, Derek."

"I don't fuck pack members," Derek replied with a smirk.

Stiles gaped at him, and Derek couldn't help but look at his wide mouth, even when Stiles realised he was looking and purposely licked his lips.

"I don't think you'll have a problem breaking that rule, Sourwolf," Stiles quipped, smirking now.

Derek couldn't think of a reply that didn't involve him crawling in the Jeep and making Stiles prove his words, so he just stood there and stared Stiles down. Stiles just rolled his eyes at him, and turned the key in his ignition.

"Don't go hunting that monster without me, okay? Maybe afterwards I'll be able to help you; I've been known to do a bit of rule-breaking now and then," Stiles admitted, winking at Derek before he put the Jeep into reverse and left him standing there.

Derek refused to meet the eyes of any of his betas when he went back to the loft, but they all grinned at him knowingly anyway.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	5. Wanderlust

Word: Wanderlust

...

"The spell that was put on Stiles can only be removed by the witch that cast the spell! It's unlikely that he will undo the curse now that he's _dead_," Deaton said, looking as angry as anyone had ever seen the usually-calm Druid.

"I thought that killing the caster would undo whatever spell he'd done," Peter said, sounding as meek as he possibly could while covered in blood.

" This isn't Harry Potter, and in the real world, magic doesn't _stop_ because the caster is dead. This could be for life," Deaton said, taking hold of Stiles as he tried to leave again, sitting him on the chair in front of him. "I know it must be difficult, Stiles, but just sit still a little longer."

Stiles made a noise of protest, his eyes glazed over as he fidgeted under Deaton's hold.

"I thought it was just wanderlust? That doesn't sound so bad," Scott said, looking uncertain nonetheless.

"Normally it's fine, but a spell for wanderlust is a lot more than a simple desire to travel: it becomes a compulsion. Stiles may be able to fight the spell for short periods of time - perhaps even a few months if he's able to develop his own powers as a spark - but he will constantly feel the need to travel in order to ease the spell's pull on him."

"So, we set him loose in the preserve every few days to walk around?" Isaac asked, confused.

"No, the preserve won't be enough. The strength of this spell requires much longer distances," Deaton said, holding Stiles down again.

"You're not just talking interstate, are you?" Stiles asked weakly, looking up at Deaton.

Reluctantly, he shook his head and confirmed the worst.

"Now, wait just a minute. How do you know it's not going to just fade with time? Give him a couple of months to travel around the country and then we'll see what he's like," John said, hoping that Stiles' stubbornness would work in their favour for once.

"It won't be, Dad. I already feel like I need to get out of _California_, and it's only been three days since I was hit with the spell. It's driving me insane," Stiles added, scratching his arm.

"What about other witches? Surely _someone_ out there knows how to break this?" John asked, turning to Deaton.

"Perhaps, but it's not just _knowing_. It takes a great deal of magical strength to break another's spell. New Orleans would be a good place to start, and it should help ease Stiles' need to travel," Deaton suggested.

"He shouldn't go alone," Peter said suddenly, looking to his Alpha.

Scott nodded determinedly and stepped forward.

"You can't go, Scott. You need to protect Beacon Hills," Stiles said. "And don't you even think about it, Dad. You just want to go on a road trip so you can eat as much junk food as you want. I'm on to you, old man. Besides, you need to make sure the witch's coven doesn't come looking for revenge," he said, looking over to Deaton's examination table.

"I'll go," Derek offered. "If we take the Camaro, we'll get there faster than in your old Jeep," he added with a slight grin.

"You leave Roscoe alone; she would've got me to the next town."

Deaton was quiet as the others helped Stiles and Derek plan their trip. Peter didn't look pleased, and Deaton had his suspicions about the wolf, about how he'd found the witch so fast when not even Scott had been able to follow his scent, and about his sudden suggestion to have Scott leave with Stiles.

When the plans were finalised and contact details for several witches in New Orleans provided, Deaton kept Stiles and Derek behind as the others left. When they were alone, he suggested they go the opposite way than what they had planned. Neither was happy about deceiving the others, but both eventually agreed.

Instead of leaving next week like they had planned, Stiles convinced his father that he needed to leave the very next day. Derek picked him up from the Stilinski residence less than an hour later, and after hugging his father so tightly they couldn't breathe for a few seconds, Stiles got in the car with his bag and they were gone.

New Orleans provided several leads and they travelled to various witches across the US for five months. Stiles started to get antsy as the urge to go _anywhere_ felt like it was literally burning in his veins. Derek worried and hardly slept, constantly watching Stiles to make sure he wouldn't take the keys and leave whatever shitty motel they were in just to keep moving (he'd caught him trying to do that the week before). Stiles started taking sleeping pills, discovering that the urge wasn't so bad if he was medically unconscious at night, though he still managed to toss and turn in his sleep unless Derek held him down.

When news came that someone in France could help, Stiles almost collapsed in relief. Derek put the Camaro in storage and booked them a flight to France via Iceland. Stiles told his Dad what was happening, and while John sounded pleased that they were getting somewhere, the fact that Stiles was succumbing to the spell worried him as well. Derek promised to look after Stiles, which probably shouldn't have reassured John as much as it did.

On the plane that afternoon, Derek looked at the man he'd come to care for more than any other in the world. Stiles drooled on Derek's shoulder in his pill-induced sleep, and Derek smiled at him fondly, ignoring the wet patch easily enough. He knew that he would do everything in his power to ensure that Stiles survived, and as long as he was wanted, Derek would never leave Stiles' side again. If that meant they had to travel around the world for the rest of their lives, so be it.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	6. Caprine

Word: Caprine

...

"If you don't help me down, I'm going to find some way to kill you!" Peter yelled.

"Hmm, _tempting_. But the answer's still no, Peter. You look positively caprine and I'm enjoying myself far too much," Lydia said with a sweet smile.

Peter decided that he was dating a psychopath. It was why they were perfect for each other, really: he fucked with her mind, she fucked his mind up in return, and they love-hated each other with a passion that normal couples would never understand.

"Caprine?" Scott whispered to Stiles, frowning.

"She means he looks like a goat," he replied, not bothering to whisper, smirking as he leaned back against Derek.

Peter let out a low growl of annoyance, trying to figure out a way to get down from the rocky cliffside. While he would have no compunctions about potentially injuring himself, he was wearing a Marc Jacobs suit and Lydia had threatened to kill him if he ruined it. Peter knew that she wasn't joking and the thought of Lydia being angry enough to kill him made the werewolf shudder in fear. It wasn't **his** fault they were chased by some sort of demonic creature (except that it definitely was; he'd been warned that the creature was sensitive about its hag-like appearance, and well, Peter just so happened to have a mirror handy).

Scott, Stiles and Derek had distracted the creature so Lydia and Peter could hide. While Lydia had done the smart thing and gone into the trees, Peter had decided that attempting to climb the cliff ravine was the best means of escape. He still stood by that decision, even if he couldn't get down now.

"I say we leave him there overnight as punishment for pissing the creature off," Stiles said.

"Seconded," Derek huffed, arms wrapped around Stiles as he nuzzled his neck.

"Bloody mating hormones. Tone it down, would you? I can smell you from up here, you lovesick puppies!"

"Naw, hear that, pumpkin? Uncle Peter's calling us lovesick puppies. And you said Uncle Peter didn't like nicknames, Lyds," Stiles said, turning to make out with Derek in pure defiance.

"I said **I** don't like nicknames. And stop it, you're ruining my concentration. Peter, move to the edge on my left."

Peter looked to the edge and shook his head. That was far too small, he'd barely be able to get a toe on it. Lydia put her hands on her hips and glared up at him.

"If you don't move in the next three seconds, you don't want to know what I'll do to you."

Peter winced, knowing all too well about her stock of wolfsbane. He made his way slowly and carefully down to the ridge she'd said, clinging on as he faced the cliff face, and telling himself that he would kill Stiles if he recorded this.

"Good, now there's another ledge to the right of your foot."

Fuck, he couldn't see the ledge for himself. That meant he was going to have to trust her completely for this. Peter had severe trust issues, and Lydia knew that, damn it. He moved his foot a few minutes later, clinging by the edge of his human fingers.

"Almost there, a bit further," Lydia called, and he almost sighed in relief when he felt the rocky ledge under his foot.

"What now?" he yelled.

"You can start by not yelling at me," she replied firmly.

"Sorry, dearest," Peter ground out.

"Mm-hmm. Right hand directly vertical from where it is now."

"Left foot on blue, right hand on red, and ... " Stiles was cut off abruptly by what Peter hoped was Derek's hand rather than his mouth. The hormones they were exuding was affecting his vision.

"Stiles, shut up. In fact, Scott, get them out of here. I can deal with this," Lydia said.

"Right. Uh, guys, can you stop now? I don't want to explain to my mum that you've traumatised me again," Scott said.

"But I want to watch Uncle Peter get past his numerous trust issues and the bonding experience he and Lydia are sure to share."

"Stiles, come on. We'll go home and test out the new sheets I bought last weekend," Derek offered, and Peter so did not need to know that.

"What are we still doing here, then? C'mon, 400 thread Egyptian cotton await us," Stiles called, already running ahead.

"Lydia, dearest? I'm still stuck here," Peter called, feeling his fingers slipping.

"I know that, Peter. Move your left foot down and to the right a bit," Lydia directed.

Peter had no idea how long it took, but he followed her instructions (even if he needed to bite back a sarcastic response every now and then), and eventually, he found himself standing on the uneven ground. He made his way over to Lydia, expecting a hug at the very least (_look, his suit was still perfectly fine!_), and instead he was hit very firmly with her Prada handbag.

"What the hell was that for?"

"You scared me! And you were told not to aggravate the creature! Why were you carrying a mirror around anyway?" Lydia demanded.

"You hate using your phone to check your reflection, but you always forget to bring a mirror," Peter said, shrugging.

Her angry gaze softened slightly, but Peter didn't dare presume that she had forgiven him. She let out a sigh and turned on her heel, heading back to the restaurant where their car waited.

"You're taking me home and we're having sex until I forget about the last thirty minutes, understood?" Lydia said over her shoulder.

"Yes, dearest," Peter said with a quick grin, running to catch up to her.

He loved when she got this way, and despite all the effort he put into not ruining his suit, Peter knew it would probably be torn off him when they got home.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	7. Zephyr

Word: Zephyr

...

The wind is cold, blowing in from the west, and there's no amount of thermal lined clothing that will be able to keep his body warm. He's only human, and this wind a zephyr is not. It's the wind before a storm, building up before a hurricane, the cold that swirls down from the Arctic, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop feeling it. Even his werewolf friends have huddled together in a pile inside the loft, bodies stacked atop one another in front of the stone fireplace. Everyone pretends not to notice Peter flinch any time the wood cracks, and Stiles doesn't know if it's good or bad that they're not acknowledging what seems to be a legitimate fear.

Stiles is a big advocate of the whole 'ignore a situation until it's no longer a situation' plan himself, but this doesn't feel right. Which is something Scott should be saying, really, because Scott's the good one between them. He's the angel and Stiles is the devil, just like it has been since they were kids and Stiles convinced Scott to climb up to the big kids' monkey bars with him. But that devil became a bit too literal recently, and he hurt the angel beyond repair, and there's nothing he can do to fix that. Scott doesn't mean to flinch when he looks at him, Stiles knows he doesn't, but it's reflexive, like Peter and the fireplace.

In fact, Scott flinching when he looks at him is the main reason Stiles is out on the balcony freezing his ass off. He doesn't think anyone's noticed his absence yet, they're all too mesmerised by the movie that's playing and the warmth they're feeling. He can't blame them, really, but tonight even Star Wars won't be enough to pull Stiles out of his mind and his thoughts. The window opens and someone else steps out onto the balcony, moving to stand beside Stiles without actually touching him.

He breathes in relief when he sees that it's Derek. Just like Scott and Peter, Derek has an automatic flinch too; his is when someone touches his bare skin. He's okay with clothes, mostly, but if it's directly on bare skin he flinches back. It's something that Stiles hadn't even noticed until he looked for everyone's flinch points, but now that he knows about it, he's careful not to set Derek off. They all have a different point: Boyd flinches at the cold (and he works at the ice rink, Stiles could write a freaking thesis on that), Isaac flinches at the very thought of small spaces (and completely freaks out if he's put in one without an escape, which Stiles can't blame him for at all), and Erica flinches any time they drive past the hospital (or even when she sees the word itself; he's seen her turn away at the sign for the hospital before). Allison's still in France with her father, so Stiles can't see what she flinches at, but he can probably guess.

Stiles has yet to figure out what his own flinch point is, but he thinks it might be something to do with disappointment. He hates the fact that he can hear pure disappointment laced into his father's words and in his expressions, he can see it on his teacher's faces, and he can see it in the others when he refuses - yet again - to become a werewolf. They're all disappointed in him, and he doesn't like that, so Stiles thinks that he would probably flinch at that. It makes sense, at least.

"Cold out here tonight," Derek says finally, and Stiles nods in response.

He doesn't talk much when it's just him and Derek, and it's relaxing to not have to keep up the constant chatter like he does with the others, unwilling to see that he's anything other than the usual hyperactive kid that rambled at a drop of a hat. It hurts his throat now, but Derek doesn't push for conversation, and Stiles is grateful for that.

"You're missing the movie," Derek says, and he can feel his body warmth even though there's still space between them.

"Seen them hundreds of times before. Don't feel like it tonight," he adds softly.

"All right. Want to have a nap in my room? It's been a long day, and no one will notice if we're gone," Derek offers.

Stiles looks at him, pleased when Derek doesn't flinch. He doesn't seem disappointed or upset in any way, he just looks like he needs to sleep. It's something they worked out a few weeks ago. Stiles usually wakes up with nightmares when he's home, and Derek wakes up feeling like he can't breathe, but after taking a nap on Derek's couch while watching TV (neither one focusing on the screen itself, which is probably why America's Next Top Model was playing), they woke up feeling rested. Not screaming, not suffocating, and that was enough. It didn't always work, sometimes Stiles still woke up with a scream or Derek woke up with a gasp and hand on his burning chest, but the times that it did work was enough to make them feel like they had before. Before the fire, the nogitsune, the flinching.

"All right," Stiles replies, following Derek back inside, to his room, and into his bed.

This night, they sleep without interruption, and outside the west wind blows through the preserve, scattering leaves in the night.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	8. Vane

Word: Vane

...

Stiles blinked at the cookie cutter house in surprise. When he'd been invited to Deaton's house to train as an emissary, he'd kind of expected ... well, something a bit darker than this, honestly. He knew that Deaton wasn't a witch, but Druid's were meant to be all mystical and shit, weren't they? _Shouldn't that mystery extend to their house as well?_ There wasn't a tree in sight, and the front garden was made up with pebbles, white rocks piled on top of white rocks. He supposed it looked a lot like a typical Japanese meditation garden, though Stiles doubted Deaton sat out in his front yard meditating every morning.

"If you're done staring, can we go inside and get started?" Derek asked with a reluctant sigh beside him.

"I've still got fifteen more seconds of staring before I'm over _this_," Stiles replied, just to piss him off a bit.

"It's a _house_, Stiles. What's there to get over?"

"He's a Druid with a Japanese rock garden. I wasn't expecting the house to be so normal, either. I was expecting... oh, I don't know, a gingerbread house with a little woodcutter weather vane on the letterbox?"

"Like you said, Deaton's a _Druid_; he's not a witch, so why would he have a gingerbread house, Stiles?" Derek asked with a sigh.

"You lack imagination, you know that?"

"So you've told me. Your fifteen seconds are up," Derek added, shoving Stiles towards the fence.

"I can't believe you counted that," he muttered, walking up the path to the front door.

"You're going to do this all day, aren't you?"

"Do what?" Stiles asked, frowning as he rang the doorbell loudly and obnoxiously.

Derek just looked at the doorbell pointedly and didn't reply. Stiles smirked, wondering if he'd even recognised the tune as _Little Red Riding Hood _(the original version by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs, obviously; just because Stiles was causing shit didn't mean he couldn't observe the classics).

"Good morning, Stiles, Derek. If you could stop playing the doorbell and scaring Muffin, I'd appreciate it," Deaton added.

Stiles immediately let go of the doorbell and gave him a somewhat remorseful look. "Who's Muffin?"

"My dog," he replied, leading them through his house to the kitchen. "Muffin, say hello to Stiles and Derek."

He wasn't even using a cutesy voice like most people did with animals, but Stiles figured being a vet cured him of that pretty fast.

_Hello, Stiles and Derek_.

_Okay. Deaton had a dog that could talk __**into his brain**__. Not freaking out. Not freaking out. __**Totally**__ freaking out_.

"What the **fuck** was that?!" Stiles yelled, leaping back a foot to get away from the mind-talking monster.

The dog yapped and looked cute in response.

Deaton just frowned and looked between his dog and Stiles. "That's Muffin, my dog. Is everything all right, Stiles?"

"You mean you didn't hear that?" Stiles asked, looking at Deaton, then to Derek.

"Hear what, Stiles?" Derek asked, looking at him worriedly.

"Muffin. He - "

"She," Deaton corrected.

"**She** talked! She said _hello, Stiles and Derek_. In my head!" Stiles said.

"Muffin doesn't have telepathic abilities, Stiles," Deaton said slowly, frowning.

"Yeah, that _you_ know of. C'mon, Muffin, prove them wrong."

Muffin just sat down and smiled happily, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

Stiles heard Derek's laughter first, and he glared at him. Then Deaton started chuckling as well, and Stiles went red realising that they'd tricked him.

"Oh, fuck both of you with a cactus! How did you do that?" Stiles asked, his curiosity swiftly taking over his embarrassment.

"Listen and learn; you might just find out one day," Deaton said, still chuckling.

"Now, are you going to take this seriously, Stiles?" Derek asked, arms crossed over his chest.

"Yes. Promise," Stiles added quickly.

Deaton led them out to the back yard (which had trees and a garden with herbs and plants - that's what Stiles had expected!), Muffin following docilely.

_Don't be a bonehead about this, Stiles_, Muffin said, lying on the deck and resting her head on her paws to watch them.

"I won't," he murmured.

"You won't what?" Deaton asked, frowning.

"I thought you said you'd take this seriously?" Derek added.

Stiles stared at Deaton and Derek incredulously, unable to believe that they were doing this to him again. Then he realised that they were actually **serious** this time and weren't fucking with him, and Stiles looked over at Muffin who was licking her paws innocently.

"Nope! I am so **not** dealing with a telepathic dog today," he stated firmly.

Stiles promptly turned his back on the dog, and refused to acknowledge any questions from Deaton and Derek.

...

Over the course of the next six months, they discovered that Stiles had an affinity for telepathy with canines, including (but not limited to) the wolf pack. It helped him out of a few scrapes (and kidnappings) here and there, especially when he learned how to return thoughts to the wolves and dog (Muffin jumped all over him eagerly when he was successful with his attempt, her happy and proud thoughts almost bombarding him).

Two years later, Muffin announced her pregnancy, and Stiles was allowed first pick from the litter. He named his pup McMuffin and was pleased to hear Mac's first thought less than a week later. Derek had second pick from the litter and if it wasn't for Stiles, she would have been named Dog or something equally lame. Nugget was one of the most well-behaved dogs in the park (possibly the world), not surprising Stiles in the slightest, and she had a way of calming Mac in a way that not even Stiles could manage some days.

When they visited Deaton, Stiles told his mentor that the pups hated his new lounge, and just laughed uproariously when they proved him right by peeing on the upholstery.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	9. Withershins

Word: Withershins

...

"You're going withershins, you overgrown potato!"

Stiles frowned over at the leprechaun wondering just how his life had gotten to the point that he was taking directions from a leprechaun. No seriously, it really was a leprechaun. Tiny, tiny man, red hair, swore like a drunk sailor, and although he wasn't wearing the green outfit and pointy boots, he was still definitely a leprechaun. In fact, Stiles was pleased that the tiny creature didn't have pointy boots, because he was sure the thing would've kicked him in the ass with them already.

"What's that about shins?" Stiles asked, frowning.

The leprechaun huffed, folded his arms over his chest and scowled. "You're going the wrong way, numbskull."

"Hey, I'm at least three hundred times taller than you, I think I can see where I'm going better than you can."

"You think that, you great lummox, but you're still going the wrong way. I have a nose for these things," the leprechaun said, tapping his nose firmly.

"I have a nose for these things," Stiles mocked under his breath, pulling a face and turning back in the direction he thought his precious Jeep was.

It was late at night, there was no moon or stars, and he'd accidentally left his phone in the front seat of his car, okay? It's not his fault that he got lost in the dark and managed to (literally) stumble over the very thing he and the others were searching for. The fact that the town's water supply had been changed into a very, very potent Guinness had only been funny for the first day. (Or two, maybe three if Stiles was feeling particularly malicious.) It seemed that alcohol created by a leprechaun with his very own leprechaun-y powers affected werewolves as well as humans. Derek dancing with a mop was the funniest thing Stiles had ever seen in his entire life. In fact, when this creature was dealt with, he was going to spam the video to the entire freaking world because everyone needed to see a video of Derek dancing with a mop in his underwear. He was doing the world a service, really.

Stiles kept walking, the leprechaun following him reluctantly thanks to a leash with gold trimming that Deaton had produced. Exactly **why** he had a bunch of leashes that were laced with real gold, Stiles had no idea. In fact, anything that Deaton had, Stiles didn't particularly want to know about, so long as it helped.

Almost ten minutes later, after Stiles tripped over his fourth tree branch of the night, he let out a howl of frustration and turned on the leprechaun.

"I swear, if you're doing that in some way with your leprechaun magic, I'm going to find the closest pond and drown you in it," Stiles threatened.

"Oh, good idea, lad. Best idea you've ever had, probably. I could do with a drink," the leprechaun replied eagerly, looking around. "This way."

"What? No, we ... arghh," Stiles said, hands clenched in annoyance.

Fine, he could absolutely admit when he was lost, and he could definitely accept help from tiny little men that boozed up his town's water supply. No, he couldn't. Not to either - not ever, not now, and ... they were walking that way anyway. Stiles wasn't exactly sure how it happened, but he was following the leprechaun now, and screw it. He was thirsty too.

For actual water, though. (Stiles had found that Guinness made him thirsty and extremely flirty, and he wasn't going to think about what else had happened on the video, about how he'd propositioned Derek to take over for the mop. Nope, not thinking about that at all.) Instead, he would think about clear, cold, and refreshing water. Nothing at all like the river's disgusted polluted water that people had died in. Hell no. Dead-body-free water for him, thank you! Water that you could look at and see the bottom of the river, water that sparkled in the sun instead of a brown muck that kind of gurgled in the sunlight. He wanted water so fucking bad.

"Ah, there 'tis!" the leprechaun exclaimed, right before it unbuckled itself from the leash (which Deaton had promised it wouldn't be able to do - _fucking hell, Deaton!_) and jumped straight into the river.

Stiles was about to dive in after him and pull the damn creature out, but then the leprechaun started screaming like it was being stabbed with a million needles and set aflame, and Stiles wanted no fucking part of that fresh hell. Whatever was in the river could stay there, and it could keep the fucking leprechaun too, he decided, turning around to leave.

There was a snarl and a blur of darkness, and then Scott was in the river pulling the leprechaun out.

"What the hell, Scott?! What was it? Was there some sort of giant needle-wielding squid in there?" Stiles asked in horror.

"What? No, dude, it's just water. See?" Scott added, shaking his head so droplets flew onto Stiles.

"Really? Then why was the leprechaun screaming?"

"I'M NOT A LEPRECHAUN, YOU GANGLY ARMED GIRAFFE!"

Stiles was still trying to come to terms with the river water being actual water again, and just blinked at the tiny man in confusion. "You're not?"

"He's a brownie. Scottish version of a leprechaun, but apparently like to do things to get their Irish counterparts into trouble," Scott murmured. "Also, not a big fan of water."

"You mean... The Guinness wasn't really Guinness?"

"Uh, no, that was still alcohol. At least a third of the town's in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. A lot of kids, too," Scott said with a sad look. "I'm not even sure how this is water again, really. Deaton said he was going to call you, something about believing in the power of water. I think he said that, at least, he was a bit slurred at the end there. Did he talk to you?"

"No. Left my phone in the Jeep. Um, the ... uh, brownie's escaping," Stiles said, pointing at the man trying to scurry away.

"Oh, right, I've got him. The road's straight down there, dude. Can you find your Jeep from there?" Scott asked, letting the brownie have a head start.

"Yeah, sure," Stiles said.

Since he'd cleaned the water with the power of his mind (that should be his new slogan, if he had a slogan in the first place), Stiles figured it was safe enough to drink, and he gulped down a few handfuls of clear, cold, and refreshing water eagerly.

"Cool. Oh, and Isaac was telling me about a video he took of you and Derek dancing and making out in your underwear?" Scott asked, grinning as Stiles spluttered and choked, before taking off after the surprisingly fast brownie.

Well, shit. He'd forgotten Isaac was in the room. Never mind what he'd said before, Stiles was going to **delete** every copy of that video. He was doing the world a service, honestly. Still, maybe when Derek was sober, Stiles would be able to convince him to give an encore performance.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	10. Flit

Word: Flit

...

Allison finds that death is just as interesting as the last two years of her life was. She's not too surprised to realise that she remembers everything about her death, nor is she surprised that she's a ghost (walking through walls and people is a sensation she's not sure she'll ever get used to), simply because there was too much that she left behind for her to truly leave it behind. She had to make sure that her Dad would be okay, that Scott would be all right, that Isaac would survive, because they're her boys and she couldn't leave them like that. She can't seem to leave Beacon Hills though, so when her father leaves with Isaac a few weeks after her death, Allison can't follow after them.

After seeing Scott and Kira's shy-awkward-longing glances for the third time in as many minutes during English, Allison decides that she won't follow him anymore. He will still love her and mourn her, but with Kira by his side, it seems that Scott will be all right eventually. She's not jealous, but Allison doesn't exactly want to hang around while they're (probably) making out or something. That would be a bit too much. So, now that she knows her boys are all right, Allison thinks that that's it, and she'll ... cross over, or whatever it is that happens to ghosts who've completed their unfinished business. Except there's no white light, no family members waiting to greet her at pearly gates (or demons dragging her into a pit; she knows she hasn't exactly been pure or innocent, and she'd killed without remorse), and Allison kind of just _exists_.

Days flit by without her really noticing, and then Allison finds herself in Stiles' bedroom as he's screaming blue murder while in the throes of a nightmare. She didn't love him like Scott, but she supposes that Stiles was one of her boys too (she still remembers him running across the school passing messages between her and Scott, and feels bad on realising that he'd spent so much time running around that he probably hadn't eaten lunch). She soothes Stiles with a light touch, her fingers cool against his burning forehead. Allison wonders where the Sheriff is, for Stiles to be screaming like this alone, but doesn't go to find out because Stiles stops screaming at her touch and he opens his eyes for a moment, seeming to look directly at her, then slumps down onto his pillow and falls asleep again. She stays by his side for the rest of the night, and is relieved when he doesn't start screaming again.

Now that Allison's found a purpose again, she stays with Stiles and keeps watch over him. She makes sure he sleeps through the night, even after a nightmare (she can't stop them, much to her chagrin, but she can ease the after effects and she has to hope that it's enough), and when he forgets his Adderall one morning, Allison makes the bottle of pills tip off the kitchen counter. He swallows a pill without water and thanks her, as if he's known she's been there all along, and it's a comfort to know that someone can still believe in her presence even if they can't see her.

Allison doesn't always stay with Stiles, and when Derek returns, she finds that she doesn't have to anymore. They usually sleep curled around each other like they're both holding something precious and will never let go, and when she sees them like that, Allison can't help but long for a human touch again. She usually leaves soon after Derek arrives, and each time Stiles thanks her as though he can feel her going. She smiles at that, because recognition feels just as good as she remember human touch felt.

Sometimes she'll find herself at Lydia's, Scott's, or Derek's when he's not with Stiles, and even Peter's a few times. Allison's even helped Danny when he was having a panic attack over paint; Coach when his heart was racing in a dangerous way over more medical bills; and Malia when she was torn between leaving Beacon Hills and staying (eventually, she left, her coyote needing more space to run than the preserve could offer).

When her father returns (without Isaac), Allison spends a few weeks making sure he's all right, that he's grieving properly and not just compartmentalising everything away. (Just because he has the ability to do that doesn't mean he should - it's not the healthiest way to mourn the loss of a wife and a daughter in the same year.) Slowly, he grieves, visits their graves, and while he doesn't move on straight away, he does slowly start to heal.

When Kira's panicking in the mall because Scott's asked her to prom (Kira had no idea what outfit to wear so she dragged Lydia out who'd made her try on all manner of dresses that just aren't _her_ and now Kira's completely freaking out), and Allison appears right there in the dressing room, she gets it.

She realises that she didn't stay behind because of unfinished business with the Oni, or to make sure Scott, her dad, or Isaac would be okay. She stayed in Beacon Hills because she needed to help the others, even if it was in their day-to-day lives with no monsters involved. She had needed to protect them, and make sure that they would live their lives in a way that she hadn't been able to. She was a warrior, but she fought for peace and to give others life, and Allison will keep doing the same thing even in death.

Allison makes the white and red dress flutter, Kira's sharp eyes catching the movement, and she leaves the mall after brushing Lydia's shoulder with a light touch to make her friend smile again. They'll probably never be safe, never stop fighting, but Allison knows that she'll stay for the rest of their natural born lives to make sure that they still remember to **live.**

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	11. Frippery

Word: Frippery

...

"I still don't understand why you need all of this _frippery_," the snarl came from outside of the dressing room. "You've got enough clothes already!"

"Just because you have the same shirt in five different shades of black, it doesn't mean we all have to dress like you do, honey. Now shut up, and go get this for me in the next size down," the reply came snippily, an item of clothing flying over the top of the dressing room door.

Sighing, Derek gave up on his attempt to reason, and headed back out into the store. He was almost bombarded by an overeager salesman that probably worked on commission. He was also the same fucker that had insulted Ginger when she came in, stating they wouldn't have anything for _him_ in a sneering way that had Derek sorely tempted to deck the bastard. But that would probably get him arrested, so instead, he ignored the guy, shoved past, and continued to where the sequinned skirts were.

Ginger was one of the girls Stiles had met his first night at the Jungle, and they were some of the few that still didn't know about the supernatural happenings in Beacon Hills. _Which was probably why Stiles wanted to invite the girls to his 21st birthday party at the Jungle_, Derek mused. _Well, his first __**legal**__ party at the Jungle, that is_, he amended, thinking of the past three years' worth of parties.

"Here, Ginger. How are you going with the rest of it?" Derek asked, his very unsubtle way of asking how long he had to wait for her to finish.

"About ten more minutes, honey. Oh, it fits! You better stand back, honey, 'cause I look _fabulous_ in this outfit," Ginger exclaimed, opening the stall door and stepping out with her arms splayed.

"Wow, you do look great."

She snorted at him. "Don't sound so surprised. I can make _anyone_ look good in drag, honey," Ginger said, giving Derek a very obvious once-over.

Derek was still trying to avoid the whole dress in drag theme Stiles had picked for the night, no matter what Lydia and Kira were saying about Stiles' dress and feather boa. It wasn't that he wouldn't be comfortable in a dress - he'd been shoved into so many dresses and skirts when he was a child and Laura still had a say over what game they had to play (and then Cora, because she was the youngest and they all had to dress up for her too) - but it was freezing at night now (damn you, Stiles, for being born in winter), and he just knew he was going to freeze his dick off if he wore anything as short as Ginger's dress.

"I've already got my outfit," he lied.

Ginger raised an eyebrow in a motion that put his to shame, but just gave a sigh. "Whatever you say, honey. Just don't leave it to the last minute. Now, when I've bought these, how about we go get something to eat? I'm starved."

That was possibly the best news Derek had heard all day.

...

Derek arrived to Stiles' party fifteen minutes late because he didn't want to be the first one there, and he wanted to slip into the club when people were dancing and less likely to notice him. It didn't quite work out like that; Stiles had suspected people would arrive late to avoid being seen, and had convinced the owner to put a spotlight on everyone that came through the door. Which is how within seconds of his arrival, everyone in the Jungle knew that Derek was wearing a red dress with a thigh-high slit in it, and red stockings (it was freezing and the stockings helped. A bit).

He immediately got nicknamed Rabbit (presumably after Jessica Rabbit, so he couldn't complain) and Ginger met him by the bar with a wide smile and a kiss on the cheek. He was led across to the VIP section where Stiles was surrounded by their friends. He was wearing a gold dress that showed off his shoulders and ribs with specific tears in the fabric, a large silver boa wrapped around his shoulders.

"Derek! You made it!" Stiles called, sounding a bit tipsy already as he smiled over at him broadly.

"Oh no, he's Rabbit now, honey," Ginger called, grinning.

"I can see why," Lydia said with a smirk, adjusting the tie on her Hugo Boss suit. "Well, who wants to buy me a drink?"

"Scott'll do it, won't you, Scotty?" Stiles asked, blinking up at his friend.

"Yeah, sure. You have to come with me to the bar, Lyds, I'll probably order something like sex on the rocks and you'll hurt me," Scott lamented, adjusting the top of his blue dress carefully.

"You just want me to protect your virtue," Lydia said with a laugh, taking Scott's gloved arm and dragging him to the bar.

"He was going to wear orange; can you imagine? Orange with that skin tone," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

"Mmhmm, that would've been a crime, honey," Ginger agreed, shaking her head. "Now, let me finish telling you about Derek being all growly and protective of me in the store. He's a keeper, that one!"

Stiles laughed. "Oh, trust me, I know he is. But he'll never let anyone get close enough to keep him. Right, Rabbit?"

By the time Derek realised Stiles was asking him a question, Ginger and Stiles were talking and he didn't have to reply.

...

Stiles didn't get as drunk as he thought he would, despite the number of drinks offered to him. He spent a lot of time on the dance floor with his friends - not just his pack, but the girls, and Caitlin too (before she left with a nice couple towards the end of the end of their fifth song dancing together).

Stiles was just reaching the other side of tipsy when people started leaving his party, calling out their goodbyes over the music and their own bubbly laughter. It was a good way to end a party, Stiles thought, especially given their usual track record. He made his way back to the VIP section to find Ginger sitting on the lounge, talking with Candy. It wasn't until Stiles went to sit down as well that he realised Derek was lying down with his head in Ginger's lap, and she was running her fingers through his hair gently. Derek looked like he was asleep, but then he joined in the conversation a heartbeat later. Stiles grinned, moving so he was sitting at the other end of Derek's body, moving his legs so they were on top of his lap.

"Enjoying your birthday, Stiles?"

"Sure am, Rabbit! No one gave me a nickname, though," Stiles added with a mock pout.

Derek opened one eye, then grinned at him broadly. Stiles hoped the music was loud enough to drown out the sound of his heart skipping a beat.

"Well, if I'm a rabbit, you can be a wolf tonight," Derek said.

Stiles burst out laughing and nodded his head quickly, even though Ginger and Candy didn't get the joke. "Oh, hell yes, my little _królik_." (_Rabbit_. Polish.)

"Little? Speak for yourself, _wilk_," Derek replied, grinning again. (_Wolf_. Polish.)

"All right, boys. We're going to leave you two to your little game of Polish pronunciation. We'll see you later, cutie. You too, Rabbit," Ginger said, leaning over Derek to give Stiles a firm kiss on his cheek before doing the same to Derek's forehead.

Candy hugged Stiles warmly, and then Stiles and Derek were left alone. Derek's head fell back onto the lounge and he frowned, sitting up to turn and put his head in Stiles' lap instead.

"All right there, _królik_?" Stiles asked, grinning down at him.

"Yeah, my _wilk_, I am," Derek replied with a slight grin and dark eyes.

Okay, if Stiles was reading this wrong, he was going to hate himself when he was completely sober in the morning. He shifted slightly, moving so Derek could tell exactly what he was about to do, and when he didn't bolt for the exit, Stiles wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. Instead, he kissed Derek eagerly. Derek sat up a bit so Stiles wasn't leaning down at such an awkward angle, his fingers threading through Stiles' hair and knocking his tiara askew. Stiles shivered as Derek's fingers pressed against his neck firmly and licked his way into Derek's mouth in the most filthy way possible. Derek seemed to lose control at that, and seconds later, Stiles found himself with a lapful of pure _Derek_.

They got kicked out of the club soon after (last call had been called ten minutes ago), and Stiles laughed when he realised that their dresses weren't doing a thing to hide their erections, but no one seemed to care. Stiles flung his feather boa around Derek's neck and led him over to his Jeep in the most obvious way possible, Derek's cheeks red in the cold evening air.

Not even the cold weather stopped them from making out in the back of the Jeep for the next half hour until Derek growled something about needing a flat surface to ravish his wilk on (and a blanket, 'cause it was the middle of the fucking night and it was _freezing_). As Stiles scrambled out of the Jeep to get to the driver's seat (his heels were lodged in the back somewhere, long forgotten), he realised that Derek was wearing his tiara and feather boa. His _królik_ had never looked better, and Stiles was fast on the way to officially deciding that this was the **best birthday ever.**

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	12. Ad hominem

Word: Ad hominem

Author's note: This one is titled _I will try (to fix you)_, and if you like doing that sort of thing, I suggest you listen to Coldplay's _Fix You_ while reading this.

...

Three wolves crowded around Stiles after he left work, cornering him against his Jeep.

"You have to help Derek, Stiles. Look at this face," Erica said, showing him a photo of Derek on her phone.

Despite the low quality of the photo, Stiles could still see that this wasn't anything like Derek's usual brooding face.

"You're taking an _ad hominem_ approach here guys, and you'd do better to appeal to my sense of reason, just so you know," Stiles informed them.

"I've got no idea what that even means, Stiles," Isaac pointed out, frowning. "Will you help? Derek's been so emotional and nothing I do helps. It's gotten to the point where I can't even stand to be in the same room as him; he smells so _down_ and I don't know why or what to do."

"Why don't you ask Scott?" Stiles asked, looking between them.

"We tried, but he has a date with Allison," Erica said, pouting. "You have to help, please. We've never seen him like this! Tell him, Boyd," she added, nudging her boyfriend with her elbow.

"Please, Stiles," Boyd said.

Stiles raised his eyebrows in surprise, staring at Boyd for a moment. "Holy fuck, you really mean it, don't you?"

They all nodded sombrely. Stiles sighed and rested his forehead on the edge of his car door. "Fine, I'll do it. Go out to a movie or something; I don't want to see you at the loft for the rest of the night."

"Thank you, Batman!" Erica said happily, hugging him tightly.

"Thanks, Stiles. Oh, uh... Do you have money for the movies?" Isaac asked hopefully.

Stiles took his wallet out and held up a few notes. Isaac thanked him again, Boyd touching his shoulder briefly, and then they were gone. Stiles sighed, pocketed his wallet and got into his Jeep, wondering just how on earth he was going to get Derek _Broody McBroodypants_ Hale talking _this time_.

It had taken a year or three, but Stiles had started to work out a system to get Derek talking through whatever was bothering him. When Derek was angry, he needed to exercise for a few hours and then gorge out on pizza. When he was irritable, he needed to clean and usually scrubbed anything that Stiles pointed him towards until it sparkled. When he was tired, hot tea and card games worked (he could play Old Maid like nobody's business). When Derek was thinking about his family (or it was close to a holiday like Christmas, 4th of July, Labour Day, Bank Holiday, _anything_ really) he needed to be distracted with cheesy movies and TV shows. On days like those, Stiles made sure he was too distracted to brood over his photo albums of Laura, New York, and the recent photos of Cora (there were also a few of the pack that no one realised Derek had taken until afterwards, and Stiles still grinned at the one of Isaac and Boyd actually laughing at something Erica had said).

Sometimes the others could be there with them, other times Stiles knew to get them out so he and Derek could be alone, and there were a few times when he knew that Derek couldn't even handle his presence. Those were the worst, and Stiles usually set Derek up with whatever he needed and waited in his Jeep until Derek came out the next morning. (His sleeping bag and a spare pillow were always kept in the boot as a precaution.)

This time Stiles was up against an unknown, and if it had the rest of the pack that worried, then he knew it was something he hadn't dealt with before. There were no upcoming Hale birthdays nor anniversaries (the first year of the fire's anniversary without Laura had been one of the worst things Stiles had seen anyone experience, and that included his father on the first wedding anniversary without his wife). Stiles started driving, figuring he could work something out when he actually knew what was going on with Derek.

...

Derek didn't even lift his head from the lounge when Stiles made his way into the lift, though they both knew that he'd probably heard Stiles' Jeep ten minutes ago.

"Hey, Der. What's up?" Stiles asked, leaning over the top of the lounge to grin at him.

Derek just looked back at him and didn't reply. Okay, not a single response then (even if there was a single eyebrow twitch, Stiles could usually work out what was wrong with Derek).

"That good, huh? No problem. I've got cards, marshmallows, a few new movies, and a pizza ready to order via app. What do you need?" he asked, offering a smile.

Again, there was no reply, just a blank expression, and Stiles didn't know what to do. He usually had something out of Derek by now. He frowned slightly, thinking of something else that usually made him feel better even though others probably thought it was childish, and headed towards Derek's bedroom.

Derek closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing, trusting Stiles. He heard noises, a grunt here and there, scraping along the floor, but didn't open his eyes yet.

"Hey, Der. C'mon, I've got just what you need," Stiles said, taking one of Derek's hands to tug him into a sitting position.

He allowed him to be helped up, and slowly opened his eyes to find ... a mess. Blankets and sheets were pegged together (where Stiles found pegs, Derek didn't know) and resting over three chairs to make a cave. Pillows and blankets were piled up beneath the cover, and Stiles had one side open so the TV could be seen.

"My mum used to do this when I was little. We'd spend all day in there watching Disney movies. I've got a selection of Pixar, but if you want to watch anything in particular, just let me know and I'll get it for you," Stiles offered, smiling softly.

Derek squeezed Stiles' hand, trying to convey his thanks and gratitude without words. His hand was squeezed in return, Stiles helping him stand up before nudging him over to the nest in his very own cave. It was just what Derek didn't know he'd needed, and he took a moment to hug Stiles warmly, thankful that he had a mate who would always know how to fix him.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	13. Tarantism

Word: Tarantism

...

Stiles was pretty sure this wasn't his fault. He was just reading through one of the books he'd stolen _borrowed_ from Deaton, and it just so happened that he processed information faster if he heard it (his teachers didn't like him talking in class in general, hence his numerous highlighters for visual cues instead). Stiles was reading the book out loud when Derek had jumped through the window and scared the hell out of him, so Stiles' attention went straight from the spell to Derek. Which explains why Derek was dancing, and how it wasn't Stiles' fault at all. Even if Derek's expression said otherwise.

"Dude, what did you do to Derek?" Scott asked, entering in through the window a minute later.

"Why are you coming in through my window? **Both** of you? My dad _knows_ now, y'know, and you'd look a lot less suspicious if you actually entered via a door every now and then," Stiles muttered.

"I forgot and just followed Derek. Seriously, Stiles. Derek is _dancing_."

"Tarantism spell: dancing not spiders," he added at Scott's confused look. "I thought it was only meant to work if there was music playing," Stiles mused, looking back to the book.

"Your neighbour has her stereo playing and I can hear it pretty clearly. Uh, any chance you can take the spell off him?" Scott added, feeling bad for his beta.

"Not until he stops looking like he's going to murder me."

"Derek always looks like that, dude. Don't glare at me, Derek, you do!"

"Nah, it's gone down to about 60-40. Jury's still out on which number is for which look though," Stiles added, grinning. "Hmm, got it. Hold still if you can, Derek."

A few minutes later, Derek stopped dancing and gave a sigh of relief.

"Thank you," he said, a little roughly.

"No problem, Der-bear. Although, you've got some serious moves; you should think about entering the town's next Twinkle Toes competition," Stiles said, calling the last part when Derek rolled his eyes and left the room before he finished talking. (At least he used the door this time.)

"Dude, how are you so calm? I thought you'd be cashing in on this for all it's worth!" Scott hissed, incredulous at his best friend's sudden restraint.

Stiles just smirked and pointed up to the camera that was still installed in the corner of his bedroom. "It was all being taped. Now, help me find the entry form for the Twinkle Toes competition. We're signing Derek up, and you're _making_ him compete as his Alpha."

Derek won to the surprise of everyone, and Stiles didn't even use a spell.

Stiles plastered the loft with photos of Derek accepting his trophy, wearing his winner's sash and a blush that curled around his cheeks to his ears. Derek didn't bother retaliating, and proudly displayed his trophy in his lounge room; no one dared tease him for it because he really was proud of his achievement and Stiles all glared at them if they tried to say anything anyway.

For the next three years, more trophies joined Derek's first on his bookshelf. The year after that, he and Stiles competed in the couple's dance instead. When they won, Derek covered Stiles' jeep with the photos, even going so far as to wrap his tyres.

Stiles just laughed and took the Camaro to work instead.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	14. Soothsay

Word: Soothsay

Warning: NSFW

...

"Do you really need the dead chicken to be here right now, Stiles?" Scott asked with a wince.

"Hey, you want me to soothsay your love life for you, then you can deal with the smell of a dead chicken for a few minutes. I don't even want to know where you got this thing from, by the way," Stiles added, frowning at Scott.

Scott flushed red and muttered something about his neighbour's chicken coop and foxes.

"Now, I'll need the chicken's blood and bones, according to this," Stiles said, looking at a leather-bound book on his desk. "Can I borrow your claws?"

Scott shook his head, looking green around the edges. "No, I've changed my mind. It's okay. I... I'm just gonna go now," he said, running out of Stiles' room before he could reply.

When he heard the front door slam and Scott's motorbike start up and tear off down the street, Stiles started laughing. He laughed so hard that he was actually crying, and when his closet door opened a few seconds later, Stiles was kneeling on the floor with tears running down his cheeks. Derek, clad in nothing but a very revealing pair of Batman briefs, just shook his head at his boyfriend and took the dead chicken down to the kitchen. He'd clean it later for dinner, but for now, he wanted to finish what Scott had so rudely interrupted.

Stiles had calmed down by the time Derek returned to the bedroom. He'd cleaned up the feathers that had fallen to the floor, and by the smell of the room, scrubbed his desk clean with an orange-scented cleaning agent. Derek wrinkled his nose at the overpowering smell, and Stiles gave him an apologetic look.

"Sorry, I know it's a bit much. How about we go to the guest room until my room's aired out?" Stiles suggested.

Derek nodded, thankful for the alternative, and let Stiles lead him to the guest room down the hall.

"I'm surprised that Scott didn't realise that you were wearing my shirt," Derek muttered.

"I'm more surprised he didn't hear you hiding in my closet. Or smell the sex in the room. But then, that's probably normal for my room," Stiles admitted with a smug grin.

Derek just nodded in agreement; Stiles always seemed to smell like want and need and sex, and his room was no different.

"So, what was the chicken thing about?"

"Scott found a spell in a book to predict the future of someone's love life. Unfortunately, since it was in Latin, he only recognised the word chicken and didn't bother translating the rest of the spell until he brought it over to me. He must really want some sort of direction with Isaac and Allison. Maybe I should just tell him to hook up with both of them and let it play out," Stiles mused.

"Hmm, and what does the soothsayer say about our love life?" Derek asked, backing Stiles up against a wall and pressing his body to his.

"Good things, very good things. Lots of sex, talking, cuddling, sex, movie nights, pizza, more sex."

"I think I'm starting to see a theme here," Derek said with a grin, lowering his head to capture Stiles' mouth with his own.

Stiles responded immediately, wrapping his arms around Derek's neck, basically climbing Derek's body to wrap his legs around his waist and grind down against him.

He was so focused on Stiles, on his mouth, his hands, his body, his hips, his cock, his little noises that he seemed to make without even realising, that Derek didn't hear the Sheriff arrive home.

"Stiles! Why's there a dead chicken in the kitchen sink?"

Derek groaned, resting his forehead on the door next to Stiles' head, listening to his boyfriend pant softly. "I refuse to be cock-blocked by that damn chicken for a third time."

"We can sneak out of here and go to your place," Stiles offered, looking over to the window.

"We've only got one set of clothing between us, Stiles."

"Like anyone would care if you were wandering the neighbourhood naked. In fact, you'd probably get the key to the town," Stiles scoffed.

"Stiles? Are you home?" John called.

Stiles looked at Derek imploringly, and he sighed softly, stepping back with a nod. Stiles grinned, pressed a quick kiss to his lips, and hurried over to the window. Derek jumped out first, and watched in horror as Stiles kind of threw himself into the tree's branches. Derek caught him as he dropped towards the ground, and Stiles grinned at him broadly.

"_My hero._"

"Your hero's going to spank your reckless ass for throwing yourself out of the window like that," Derek growled.

Stiles seemed very interested in that idea, and if it wasn't for the fact that the Sheriff was still looking for Stiles, he probably would have shown Derek just how interested he was.

"C'mon, let's get out of here before he checks outside," Stiles murmured, taking Derek's hand and running for the Jeep.

Derek started it with his claw, ducking down when the Sheriff ran outside with the dead chicken in his hands, and Stiles yelped, pulling back out of the driveway before he could be stopped.

"If we get pulled over by anyone from the station, we're going to say that you're having a fit of insanity, okay?"

"Why does it have to be me?" Derek asked.

"Because you're the one outside in Batman underwear," Stiles replied, glancing at his briefs with a smirk. "Oh, and I don't think I've had a chance to tell you just how hot I find you wearing my briefs."

"Yeah, wait 'til we get home, then you can show me," Derek said, his clawed hand resting high on Stiles' thigh.

Stiles almost drove off the road in response, his hips hitching forward. "I don't think I'll be able to wait that long."

"Turn up here," Derek said, nodding to a dirt road that led a short way into the forest.

Stiles did as instructed, and when they were hidden from the rest of the road, Derek leaned over to kiss him heatedly. Stiles scrambled to get his seatbelt off, his pants opening a second later, and Derek physically lifted him and pulled Stiles onto his lap. Stiles didn't waste any time, pulling their hard cocks out of their confines, slicking his hand with saliva and stroking them together in his firm grip. Derek kissed each of his moles before moving to bite his shoulder through his shirt, his teeth blunt, but the intent still there. Then, reminded of his earlier threat, Derek slipped his hands down the back of Stiles' pants, grabbing his ass and digging his fingers into the flesh there.

"Fuck, Derek. God, fuck," Stiles groaned, his head resting on Derek's forehead as he drew him in for another kiss.

Derek kissed him eagerly, tilting his hips up into Stiles' grip, and with a swift motion, he pulled his hands out of Stiles' pants and gave his ass a firm slap. Stiles gasped into his mouth in surprise, and came a second later, spurts of come covering his hand and their cocks. Derek came a few seconds later as Stiles bit against his neck and rubbed his ass back against his palms wantonly.

"Oh, fuck. You're going to have to take me home and we're going to do more of the spanking thing. Lots more," Stiles said, shivering in anticipation at the thought alone.

"Mm, how's your ass?" Derek asked, caressing his ass cheek slowly.

"Tingling. All of me is, in fact. It feels good," Stiles admitted, tugging at his soft cock and smearing their come on his fingers.

Derek watched as Stiles licked his fingers clean, slowly and obscenely, neither one looking away from each other.

"You know what I've decided?" Stiles asked when he was finally clean.

"What?" Derek asked, rubbing circles on Stiles' back gently.

"We don't need any fortune teller bullshit to tell us what our future's going to be like together," Stiles said certainly. "We're going to make it together."

"Sounds good to me," Derek murmured, drawing him in for a slow and languid kiss.

"Yeah, it does. But that means we have to let everyone know that we're together, 'cause I don't know about you, but if anyone tried to hit on you while I was around, I'd probably lose my shit," Stiles admitted.

Derek completely and utterly agreed with that sentiment. Even if it meant they had to go back to the Stilinski residence and tell the Sheriff after they'd just run away from him.

"All right, we'll go back to your place and let your father know first. But you're explaining the thing about the chicken," Derek added.

"Pretty sure the chicken's going to be the easy part," Stiles said with a laugh.

He pressed another kiss to Derek's lips, his tongue swiping against his briefly before Stiles moved back over to the driver's seat. Stiles made a point of touching Derek as much as he could on the way back to the Stilinski residence, but it wasn't until they'd pulled into the driveway that Derek finally seemed to realise he was about to face his boyfriend's father while wearing nothing but Batman underwear.

_Fuck, the things he did for Stiles_.

(Surprisingly, the Sheriff was more concerned about the dead chicken than Stiles' relationship with Derek.)

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	15. Adret

Word of the day: Adret

...

Stiles ran down the adret side of the mountain, which in hindsight, was probably not the best side to choose in the middle of the day. But, hey, when monsters are running after you with the intent to kill you, it's hard to think of anything other than your immediate survival, let alone which side of a mountain to run on. Stiles just had to reach the forest line. Which would probably be easier if he could see it properly and the god damn sun wasn't shining directly in his eyes.

He tried to shield his eyes to get a look at where he was, how far he was, something to help, and ended up tripping over a fallen tree branch. _Okay, it was more like a log, but who cared about semantics when all that mattered was that it hurt like a motherfucker?_ Stiles was winded and tried to catch his breath, long shallow gasps that did little help his chest, and he could hear the monster sniffing around, trying to find him. It was essentially blind, but its nose was even better than the werewolves, apparently. Since it had come through a magical portal that Stiles had accidentally created (and immediately closed after this monster escaped because _what the fuck?!_), there was no way of knowing what it was, how dangerous it was, or how to kill it.

To say that Scott and Derek had been pissed off with Stiles was a major understatement. There were arguments, cold shoulders, glares with the heat of a thousand suns, y'know, the usual. Then they'd both left the loft (Scott to find Deaton and hopefully get answers, and Derek to try and find the monster), and when they were out of sight and hearing range, Stiles did the same. He kind of felt bad for the monster, knowing it was his fault for bringing it across from wherever the hell it came from, and now it was going to be killed. It turned out that he does have a conscience when it comes to killing things. Even if those things run after him and want to kill him.

Still, back to the monster. It was still snuffling around on the forest floor, and Stiles could tell that it was close to him. He was too sore to even try to get up, and in a matter of seconds, the monster was right above him. For fuck's sakes, he was too winded to even let out a decent scream. _This was going to be the suckiest way to die, __**ever.**_ He managed a small wince, and then the monster... started licking his face. Like a puppy. An overgrown, six hundred-pound puppy, sure, but a puppy nonetheless.

Stiles felt air returning to his lungs, the pain in his chest leaving, and he was able to sit up. The monster sat back on his hind legs (well, one pair of them, anyway), looking mightily pleased with itself, tongue lolling out of its mouth. Okay, magical healing puppy, then. Stiles blinked at it a couple of times, the monster puppy letting out a whine and moving back to lick his face. Stiles started laughing, scratching behind one of the monster's ears, and the thing just started making happy noises to the extreme. It whined happily, basically turning on its back to reveal it's stomach, and sure, the fact that it's stomach was bright green and covered in not-exactly-fur was a little off-putting, Stiles figured the creature deserved a belly rub for helping him. Using both hands, he rubbed the monster's belly like a freaking master, and grinned when its tongue lolled out of its mouth again in happiness.

"Look at you, you're not scary at all," Stiles cooed. "No you're not. You're just a pup, aren't you? Who's a good ... gender-unknown monster? You are, yes you are."

There was a sound behind him, and Stiles went still, the monster letting out a snarl beneath his still hands. He turned around to see Derek standing there, mouth hanging open slightly at the scene. Stiles quickly wiped his goo-covered hands on his pants.

"Are you cooing at the monster?" he asked in disbelief.

"I... uh... Yes? It helped me, and I want to keep it."

"Are you insane? You want to keep the monster that you brought across from another ... what, dimension, world? You don't think it needs - or wants - to go back to wherever the hell it came from?" Derek asked.

"I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. I'm not a mind-reader," Stiles said, shrugging.

Behind him, the creature was back on its multiple feet, towering over Stiles and started growling protectively. Derek's features wolfed out and he snarled back.

"Whoa, now. No need for growling, either of you," Stiles said quickly, moving so he could look at both of them properly. "Derek, stop snarling, she's seeing it as a threat. Please," he added, watching as Derek slowly returned to his human features. "Sally, Derek's a friend. Calm down, there you go, girl," he soothed.

"You named the monster _Sally?_" Derek asked in disbelief.

Sally let out a small yip (one that kind of echoed through the forest, but what could you do?), sat back on her hind legs and used her middle ones to start scratching her back.

"You want to keep that thing?" Derek asked, eyebrow raised pointedly at Stiles.

"Hey, I let you keep Jackson!"

Derek snorted, but Stiles could see him grinning, so figured he'd be all right for now.

"Okay, one down, three to go. Scott will be easy the minute Sal starts licking his face like a dog, but how do you think we should go about this with Deaton and my Dad?" Stiles asked.

"We? You're asking my opinion?" Derek asked in surprise.

"Yes, you idiot. Do you see anyone else around here? Unless Sal starts talking, that is," he added, rolling his eyes at Derek.

"Uh, right. Maybe just let ... Sally decide? I'm pretty sure Deaton's working on recreating that portal you made. If Sally doesn't want to go, I'm not sure they're going to be able to force her away."

"Good idea. Now, what do you think a six-hundred pound puppy from another dimension likes to eat?" Stiles mused, hoping it was a small amount of food that he could buy in bulk.

"That's something we'll have to ask Deaton; he'll probably know," Derek said.

"He always seems to know more than he lets on," Stiles agreed with a nod. "C'mon, Sally. Let's go see Deaton," he called over his shoulder.

Then he stopped short and stared. Derek must've heard something in his heartbeat because he turned and looked as well. Sally had wings. And they were spread like she was about to take flight.

"Stiles, I think you just adopted a dragon," Derek said, mouth hanging open for the second time that day.

"Oh, fuck yes! I get a dragon! Oh, please tell me you can fly?" Stiles begged, hurrying over to Sally to climb her back.

"Fuck, Stiles! Get down; you're going to fall and kill yourself!" Derek hissed, running after him.

Sally seemed to take his close presence as acceptance and used her middle legs to lift Derek behind Stiles.

"Oh, fuck, we're both going to die. I'm not a fan of heights, Stiles," Derek said with a low moan as Sally lifted into the air.

"Then hold on, Sourwolf," Stiles said, laughing wildly. "You'd think for something so big, her wingspan would be longer. Oh, never mind," he said as her wings unfolded completely.

Derek clutched to Stiles tightly. _This was a bad idea. A very bad idea, and he was going to kill Stiles if they died_.

"You need to relax, Sourwolf. You're cutting off my air supply," Stiles called over the noise of the wind.

Derek relaxed his grip one iota and tried to listen to Stiles' heartbeat instead of the frantic beating of his own. Sally's heartbeat was loud and steady, which was definitely a good thing, and Stiles' ... well, his was pounding like crazy, but in a happy way, if the sound of his laughter was anything to judge by. By the time they landed by the veterinarian clinic, Derek had actually managed to open his eyes. Beacon Hills was actually kind of beautiful from the air.

Scott, Deaton, and the Sheriff were in the parking lot, and just kind of stared as Derek and Stiles climbed off the back of the dragon.

"Dude, you have got to try this! I swear, it's the smoothest ride in the world, **ever**," Stiles said, grinning at Scott broadly.

"You... What the hell, Stiles?" the Sheriff asked, staring between him and the dragon.

"Oh... Uh, I found the monster?" Stiles said, a little sheepishly. "And I want to keep it. Can I keep it?" he asked, looking between Deaton and the Sheriff hopefully.

"We were actually just discussing the possibility of keeping the creature here if it was found to be harmless," Deaton admitted, though he still looked a little wary.

"What, seriously?!" Stiles asked excitedly. "You hear that, Sally? I get to keep you!"

"You named the monster?" the Sheriff asked, sighing heavily.

"Why'd you want to keep her here, anyway?" Stiles asked, hoping to change the subject and avoid his father's question.

"It seems that this creature is actually a runt in its own world. If we send it back, it will probably be eaten by its mother," Deaton said.

"Oh, yeah, that is so not happening. I'll keep her, and I promise I won't eat you," Stiles said, patting Sally gently.

She became docile immediately, falling onto the warm asphalt so Stiles could pat more of her. He grinned, calling Scott and Derek over to help. Derek didn't hesitate, and after a moment of listening to the dragon's happy mewls, Scott joined in.

"So, what do dragons eat?" Stiles asked.

"Please don't be something expensive," the Sheriff murmured.

He really didn't get paid enough to feed Stiles **and** a dragon from another dimension. In fact, he didn't get paid enough to know about a dragon from another dimension.

"You're in luck," Deaton said with a small chuckle. "The green dragons feed on rays from the sun. Of course, their sun's not as close to their planet as ours, which probably explains why this one's so small. She'll probably grow a bit more, but you won't need to feed her anything."

"Dude, how the fuck does Deaton know this shit?" Stiles muttered to Scott, who just shrugged in response.

"And you're especially lucky that the ooze on the dragon's stomach clouds people's vision. Flying a dragon - even in Beacon Hills - is sure to gather attention."

"Wait, say that again?" Stiles called out.

Sally looked completely blissed out, and Derek chuckled as she turned over for more belly rubbing.

"The ooze you're currently rubbing? It allows dragons to fly into other worlds without being noticed. It's only when they land that they're no longer invisible. You're lucky that you and Derek were both touched it, or else people would have seen two humans flying in mid-air," Deaton added.

"Okay, dragon's invisible when flying, and people can see her when she's not. Got it. And you eat sunshine? Aren't you just the sweetest dragon in the world?" Stiles cooed.

"Stop cooing at the dragon, Stiles," Derek said, rolling his eyes.

"But she's so cute!"

"Do you think she needs training?" Scott asked Stiles, who frowned slightly at the thought of Sally being in puppy obedience school.

"Not to break this up, but I think we should move the currently-visible dragon somewhere not so visible, don't you?" the Sheriff asked pointedly, looking between the three young men and the dragon.

Sally whined and rolled back onto her stomach, sitting up in a fluid motion.

"Aw, who's the smartest dragon? Guess that answers your question, Scott," Stiles said cheerfully.

"Where do you plan on taking her?" Derek asked.

Stiles' grin faltered and he looked over to his dad, who was probably thinking the same thing: their backyard was basically non-existent and couldn't fit a creature of Sally's size.

"You have lots of space in your building, don't you? And it's near the forest too!" Stiles added.

"Fine. But you're visiting her every day and making sure she goes for walks, got it?" Derek asked.

Stiles hugged him tightly, thanking Derek over and over. Green ooze strung between them as he pulled away, and they both winced.

"Sorry about that," Stiles said.

Derek shrugged and pulled his shirt off. Stiles did not stare. Absolutely did not stare, and there was no drooling involved either.

"C'mon, Sally, time to go. I'll run and you can fly," Derek called, heading over to the tree line.

Sally licked Stiles' face, snuffled against his shoulder, and then flew after Derek, her body kind of shimmering in the light and then seemingly disappearing all together.

Stiles stared after them, long after he could no longer see Sally, ignoring the chuckle from both his father and Scott (traitors, both of them).

...

For the next three months, Stiles spent every day (and a few nights) at Derek's loft looking after Sally, making sure she had her daily intake of sunlight and filled his quota of belly rubs and behind-the-ear scratching. Scott, Kira, and Lydia came by as well, but rarely stayed long.

Scott and Kira were going slow with their relationship, and were often out on dates. Lydia adored Sally, but refused to willingly ruin her outfits with green ooze. She started keeping an old shirt and pair of pants at Derek's loft for when she visited. Lydia was the one that discovered that a UV lamp would help keep Sally healthy during the winter months. It was essentially like putting Sally on a diet, but it would be enough to last her until spring and summer.

In the mornings, Derek went running with Sally, and in the evenings, Stiles liked to fly around town on Sally's back. Sometimes he managed to convince Derek to go with him, even though the werewolf clung on to him for dear life (and so what if Stiles took a perverse pleasure in that?). Then Stiles started to spend time at Derek's loft for another reason all together; one that involved much more nudity and kissing, which was a definite plus on Stiles' side (and Derek's, though he took longer to admit to it).

Everyone knew about the change in Stiles and Derek's relationship straight away and weren't surprised, honestly. The hickey was a dead giveaway, and then there was the fact that Stiles basically climbed Derek to kiss him in front of everyone just because he could. Derek smiled a hell of a lot more, too.

It was all going perfect, and then Stiles got kidnapped by a rival werewolf pack. The Alpha had sent out the rest of his pack to scout the forest, and then started monologuing to the point where Stiles almost fell asleep. (It was the most boring kidnapping he'd ever been forced to participate in.)

"I've got more power than your _weak_ little pack will ever dream about!" the Alpha snarled, his claws digging into Stiles' jaw as he lifted him off the ground with one hand.

Even though he was human, tied up, and at the werewolf's mercy, Stiles never let a small thing like that get in the way of an opportunity for a well-timed sarcastic quip. He grinned through a blood-filled mouth.

"Oh yeah? Well, _I've_ got a dragon," Stiles said.

Right on cue, Sally landed behind the Alpha with a thump and loud growl, Scott and Derek on her back.

It turned out that green dragons would eat more than sunshine if their family was being threatened.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!

(I had so much fun writing this. I want a dragon.)


	16. Abecedrian

Word: Abecedarian

...

"I'm an abecedarian," Holly stated clearly and carefully, looking up at her father with big amber eyes.

"Hmm, and what's that?" Derek asked absent-mindedly, trying to get Missy into her clothes without either one of them ripping them.

Holly frowned slightly, wobbling her loose front tooth with her tongue as she thought about it. "I'm learning ABC's," she said finally, sounding a bit unsure.

"Very good, Missy. Why don't you get your Papa's dictionary and we'll tick that word off the list?" Derek suggested, smiling at her warmly.

Holly brightened up immediately, running off to get the dictionary from the library.

"Papa! I got it right! Daddy said I can tick it off the list!" Holly called.

Missy finally stopped squirming and let Derek dress her properly. Holly returned to the room, dictionary under one arm, and tugging her Papa along with the other. Derek raised an eyebrow, grinning at the sight of Stiles wearing his pyjama bottoms with a dress shirt and tie.

"Holly just couldn't wait until I finished getting changed before dragging me out. So, what's the big news, Holl?" Stiles asked with a grin.

Derek tried not to groan at yet another abbreviation - _Mistletoe (don't ask; _seriously_) down to Missy, and Holliday to Holly down to Holl; where would it end?_

"I'm an abecedarian," Holly repeated with a broad smile. "I'm learning the alphabet."

"Oh, nice work. Do you have your special highlighter?" Stiles asked.

Holly held the dictionary up for Stiles to hold, and as soon as it was in his hands, she ran out of the room to fetch her highlighter.

"At this rate, Holly's probably going to finish the book by the end of the year," Stiles said, grinning at Derek.

"Probably. Werewolves are fast learners; but I think she gets her studying habits from you," Derek said, picking Missy up and kissing Stiles.

"You're just saying that 'cause you want to get in my pants," Stiles said.

"Yep, nothing quite as sexy as flannel check pyjama pants," Derek deadpanned.

"Oh, I'm going to remember that later tonight when I - "

Stiles fell silent when Derek shook his head minutely, and Holly returned a few seconds later, a highlighter in each hand.

"You smell funny, Papa," Holly said, wrinkling her nose.

"That's because Papa hasn't finished changing his clothes yet, Holly," Derek said quickly, Stiles trying not to flush bright red beside him.

There was nothing quite like their four year old daughter picking up on a scent and bringing it to everyone's attention. Thankfully, they weren't at a dinner party with the Sheriff, Melissa, and the rest of the pack this time.

Holly seemed to accept Derek's excuse and sat on the floor. Stiles kneeled in front of her, placing the dictionary down so Holly could open it. She grinned brightly on seeing the words already highlighted, and carefully uncapped the yellow highlighter to highlight the word 'abecedarian' in the dictionary. The cap was then replaced and the green highlighter was opened so the meaning could be highlighted.

"Very proud of you, Holly. You're so smart," Stiles said, pulling her up and into a warm hug.

Derek bounced Missy on his hip gently, glad that she'd finally settled, and kissed Holly in Stiles' arms quickly. He ruffled her slightly-damp hair, making Holly growl at him lightly.

"I'm going to finish getting changed, okay?" Stiles said, giving Holly one more squeeze before he set her down.

Stiles kissed Missy's fine-haired head gently, murmuring words of love to their almost-one-year old daughter. He then kissed Derek as well, flicking his tongue against Derek's lips as a promise of things to come, and left for their bedroom.

"All right, Holly. Dictionary back in the library, and downstairs with you," Derek said, indicating to the door.

Holly nodded, grabbed the dictionary and went back downstairs. Derek shut the nursery room door with his foot and followed after her, moving Missy slightly so she was resting in the crook of his arm.

By the time Stiles came down dressed in the rest of his pyjamas (he'd stolen one of Derek's henley shirts again), Derek, Holly, and Missy were all lying on the lounge waiting for him to join them for movie night. Stiles snuggled up to Derek, their daughters settled between them, and Derek smiled contently. They weren't the world's most conventional pack, but Derek didn't care about _conventional_. They were his family, his small pack within a larger pack, and that meant more to him than anything else in the world.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!

My brainspace, for those interested: Erica was the surrogate for both Holliday and Mistletoe. Their names came about because Stiles got to pick the names (Derek got to pick the colours of the nursery, and there was sex involved for Stiles to get his way - he's not above playing dirty). Holliday was born on a public holiday (the streets through Beacon Hills were hell on that day, never mind the fact they had a pregnant Erica in the back seat of Stiles' jeep wolfing out on the way to Deaton's); Mistletoe was born on the 26th of December, and her name was kind of said jokingly, but Derek had agreed (his hand had been literally crushed by Erica's grip and Deaton had given him something to numb the pain that made him a bit calmer than usual), so that's how their daughters ended up as Holly and Missy.

Holly has Stiles' eyes, but Derek's hair. Missy has both Derek's eyes and hair. But they'll both grow up to have Erica's backbone!


	17. Leviathan

Word:Leviathan

Crossover with Supernatural. (How could I resist?)

...

"_Seriously, Stiles?_ How can you be turned on by that _thing?_" the man with stubble asked, groaning.

"Dude, it's got _two tongues_!" the younger man pointed out, as if it was obvious. "Besides, I'm not turned on by the creature itself, just the idea it presents," he added, grinning broadly.

"Sammy?" Dean muttered, glancing over to his brother who had been thrown against the warehouse wall.

"I'm all right, Dean," Sam replied, looking a little dizzy nonetheless.

"Uh, guys, not to interrupt your usual bout of flirting, but can you deal with the thing that looks like it wants to eat you alive?" a red-headed woman asked, her sweet voiced laced with poison.

"We're getting there. Just lemme work my magic," the younger one replied, wiggling his fingers.

Dean would have snorted in disbelief - _magic, honestly? The kid didn't have a demon contract according to Crowley, and he wasn't a centuries-old witch like Don had been; what on earth did he think he could do?_ - but then the wiggling fingered kid actually **did** do something. The Leviathan stopped dislocating its jaw, its mouth shortening and returning to a human mouth, and while it was screaming in pain, the kid kind of _glowed_.

_Right. So... This kid in his mid-twenties could do actual magic without the usual spells and enchantments. Well, fuck me_, Dean thought in surprise.

"Hey, Cas? What's the kid?" Dean asked, looking over his shoulder to the angel.

"I'm... not sure," Cas said, frowning and tilting his head to the side as he looked at them.

"I think we've got something more problematic to worry about," Sam muttered, seeing the stubbled man's face starting to change.

"Get back!" Dean yelled, gun already in his hand and pointed at the werewolf.

It wouldn't be enough to kill the wolf, but it would severely damage it until he could get the right rounds loaded in his gun.

"Well, that's not very nice," the younger one muttered, and suddenly all three of them - even Cas - were thrown back behind a stack of boxes and out of their line of vision.

"Hurry up, Stiles. I can't hold it back!" a voice yelled, pained.

Dean snuck a look around one of the boxes (weapon still in hand, though he didn't think it would be such a great idea to point it at the magic kid again) and saw the Leviathan possessed kid - another werewolf, at that - standing in front of the magic one, screaming for him to hurry up. The magic one lit up even brighter, and there was a snarl from beside him as the older werewolf snapped his jaws.

"Looks like the Leviathan got hold of the Alpha," Sam murmured beside him. "That kid really using magic?" he added, glancing at Dean with raised eyebrows.

"Seems legit," Dean muttered.

"Can you two idiots be quiet so we can finish what we came to do?" a demanding voice said sternly, and they both looked down to see the red-headed woman in front of them looking far from pleased.

"Yes, of course. Sorry for disturbing you, ma'am," Cas said hurriedly, and Dean was kind of shocked because the only time he'd seen him so humble in front of another person was that time with Fate.

The red-head looked over Cas like she was seeing into his soul - _fuck, maybe she was_ - and then gave a prim nod and returned to the three men.

_What the fuck had they come across?_

There was a bright flash of light, a loud and soul-piercing scream, and then the light faded to reveal the four people kneeling on the floor (the magic kid looked like he was lying on the floor face-first, actually) in various states of pain.

"We need to help them," Cas stated, moving past Dean to go to the small group.

"Cas!" Dean hissed, trying to get him to come back.

Cas ignored him, glancing over his shoulder once to look at him with big blue eyes, as if to say that it was what he needed to do and he needed Dean to be there with him. Dean sighed and followed after him, Sam close behind.

"So, what's going on here?" Dean asked, hoping they were in enough pain to answer without too much trouble.

The group of four ... completely ignored his question.

"Scotty? You alive, man?" the magic one asked, voice rough.

"Yeah. Think so. Did you kill it, Lydia?" the Alpha asked.

"Yes. I told you I'd be able to do it," the red-headed woman said, eyes wide despite the certainty in her voice.

"Derek?" the magic one asked, finally getting up off his face to turn to the man.

Derek was looking at Dean, Sam, and Cas warily (his eyes glancing down to Dean's gun every few seconds), and just nodded in reply.

That seemed to be enough assurance for the magic kid, 'cause he hopped from his place on the warehouse floor straight onto the _werewolf's lap_. Dean wanted to question this kid's sanity, but then they started hugging like their lives depended on it, and the guy even closed his eyes, which was a dumb thing to do in a room with hunters. Even though Sam was looking at them like he might a pair of puppies.

"So who are you three? You almost ruined our plan, you know!" the red-head, Lydia, said.

"We followed the Leviathan here. We were going to contain it, but then it got into your friend," Dean said, voice rough like it always was when he had to defend himself for something.

"So your plan was to come in with guns blazing?" Lydia sneered.

"No... Not exactly. Guns don't work on Levis," Sam said with a slight frown. "In fact, nothing we've tried has worked on Levis. What did you do?" he asked, sounding awed as he looked between the blackened floor and the small group.

"We saved our friend," she replied simply. "And we have to get out of here before..."

"The cops come?" Dean asked pointedly.

Scott, the Alpha laughed. "Nah, we're good with them. Two of our friends are pregnant, and threatened to kill me if we didn't get this sorted before they went into labour... The Leviathan was actually somewhat terrified of them, really. That reminds me; Stiles, can I ring your phone to call Allison? She'll want to know I'm all right."

The magic kid held out his phone without looking, his face buried against the werewolf's neck.

"Let Erica and the rest of the pack know we're all right, too," Stiles said, words muffled, but Scott just nodded and jogged a few feet away for a semblance of privacy.

"May I speak with you?" Cas asked Lydia, eyes wide and pleading.

"Well, aren't you just an angel?" she replied with a slight smirk, leading him away immediately.

Dean looked after them with narrowed eyes, wondering what Cas wanted to talk with that girl about. "Can someone explain to me what the hell is going on here?"

Stiles looked up from where he was on the werewolf's lap (they'd started making out at some point, Dean realised, shaking his head) and shrugged.

"Welcome to Beacon Hills."

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	18. Wildling

Word: Wildling

...

Stiles crept along the tree branch, tracking the motion of the creature down below. A crude knife was held between his teeth and he was silent as he jumped between the trees nimbly. Barely a leaf fluttered, and his breathing was soft even to his own ears. He would never be heard unless he wanted it to be. He went still completely when the creature below tensed slightly, ears sharp and pointed, and it let out a howl. There was an answering howl, not too far away, and then the wolf left, bounding through the trees and far too fast for even Stiles to catch. He let out a snarl around the blade, and slipped down the tree trunk to the forest floor. He knew there were some berries in a bush nearby, and the weather hadn't changed so much that they would be inedible. Stiles crouched low to the ground and began to run through the forest towards his dinner.

Hidden in the encroaching shadows behind him, the wolf watched silently as the man disappeared from sight.

...

"There's a wildling in the forest," Derek announced when he returned to the loft to find the rest of his pack waiting.

"A what?" Scott, his beta, asked.

"A wildling's a wild plant, flower, or animal," Lydia said, rolling her eyes. "So which one is it, oh fearless leader?"

"None; it's a man. Well, he looks to be about your age," Derek said, nodding at Scott and Isaac briefly.

"Well, **that** narrows it down superbly," Peter drawled, rolling his eyes. "Do you have anything more descriptive, perhaps, nephew?"

Derek let out a small growl his eyes turning red. Peter flinched from his Alpha, but didn't respond otherwise.

"I'll try to find him again tomorrow and let you know," Derek said briefly.

"How haven't we found this guy before?" Scott asked.

"He's in an area of the forest we don't generally go to," he replied, voice short and not allowing for any more questions.

"Should we be worrying about this right now?" Isaac asked hesitantly, looking between Derek and Peter. "I mean, the Darach's still out there, and the Alpha pack's still got Erica and Boyd hidden who knows where since you killed their leader."

"Lydia, go with Peter to try and find where Erica and Boyd are; try to use your banshee senses this time," Derek added coolly.

Lydia gave a brief nod, not looking pleased at being saddled with Peter again.

"Isaac, you and Scott try and find something about the Darach and what he wants. Use Allison as a last resort," Derek added.

Scott blushed, but both boys nodded, leaving the loft with Lydia and Peter not far behind them.

Derek was exhausted from his day of running through the forest and made his way to his bed. He was still new to being an Alpha, and his pack just wasn't working as a pack should. They barely listened to him (Derek somewhat blamed Peter's nonchalant attitude for this; he knew that his uncle only accepted him as Alpha because he'd killed Deucalion and therefore had more strength as an Alpha than Peter's own Alpha form did), and there were times when he thought that it might have been better if he hadn't killed Deucalion at all. Still, he had a pack again, and it was better than no pack at all.

He'd smelled the wild man in the forest almost a week ago, and there was a part of Derek that revelled in that scent, despite the fact that he couldn't place it. He wanted to roll over and present his stomach to whoever belonged to that scent, something that his Alpha wolf was in complete agreement with, and that terrified Derek more than he would admit to. Then today, when he'd seen the man's amber eyes, intelligence in his gaze, Derek knew that he'd found another part of his pack. He just didn't know how to get the young man's consent when he looked like he'd been raised by actual wolves and probably wouldn't understand what Derek was offering.

Derek fell asleep to the remembered scent of the wild man, his amber eyes haunting his dreams. Tomorrow, he would find the wildling, and Derek would make him understand what he was offering in the best way he could. Derek didn't really know why, but he just knew that he **needed** the wildling to be part of his pack. Maybe with the addition of the wildling, and his scent that reminded Derek of _something_, they'd finally start feeling like a real pack.

...

Stiles watched with vague curiosity as the wolf neared his tree. It was sniffing softly, ears pricked as it listened out for something. Stiles cocked his head to the side, glancing from the wolf over to his knife. It wouldn't be too far of a stretch to get the knife, but he was still full from the berries and nuts he'd found the night before. He wouldn't want the wolf to go to waste. Stiles contemplated going back to sleep when he saw the wolf _shift_.

It was a slow process, and by the end of it, Stiles couldn't look away. In the wolf's place was a man. His heart raced at the sight of another human after so many years, and Stiles couldn't handle the shock or closeness of such a monster. He grabbed his knife, leapt down from the tree and sliced the monster up before he could do anything. His eyes widened when he saw the wound close before his eyes. Stiles tore his gaze away, clutched his knife tighter, and ran.

"Wait!" the monster called, but Stiles just kept running.

He was about to cross into the coyote's territory, but she looked out for him sometimes, and Stiles hoped that she wouldn't mind his trespassing today. He could hear the monster running after him, but Stiles was faster on two feet, and he soon lost the flesh-made monster, climbing up a tree in a matter of seconds to hide.

He waited, heart pounding in his chest and knife gripped in his hand, and watched the forest floor below. Stiles breathed softly but deeply, slowing his heartbeat to its normal slow pace, and tried to stop sweating onto the hilt of his blade.

Eventually, Stiles spotted the wolf nearby. It walked directly up to the tree he was hiding in and curled up at the trunk, snout resting on its front paws gently. Stiles refused to be tricked by the monster wearing the wolf. He had successfully hunted deer, waiting patiently for hours before leaping for his prey. This would be easy in comparison.

...

Derek had been caught off guard when the man dropped from the tree, snarling and slicing at him with a knife. He'd run off before Derek could do more than call for him to wait, but the stench of fear had been strong enough for Derek to follow after he shifted.

_He hadn't been scared of his wolf in the slightest, but his human self terrified him. It was usually the other way around_, Derek though to himself, padding his way through the forest carefully.

Derek didn't even have to glance up to know which tree the wildling was hiding in and simply settled down in front of the large tree easily.

Hours passed, but Derek didn't move until the sun set. He stood on all four paws, stretching his limbs with a wide wolf-toothed yawn. He'd come back tomorrow in his wolf form and see if the -

His thoughts were cut off abruptly when he heard a soft snarl from nearby, and Derek turned to see a coyote between the trees, teeth bared in anger at the intrusion. His eyes flashed red and he snarled in return, turning and leaving once the coyote whimpered and scampered away from him.

Derek left the forest without stopping, even though he could feel the gaze of the wildling on him the whole time.

Lydia announced that she knew where Boyd and Erica were later that night, and Derek didn't have a chance to tell them about the wildling or his response to Derek's human form.

They were able to rescue Boyd, Erica, and Cora (_his youngest sister was alive and he'd never known_) a day later on the night of the full moon. All three were crazed with moon lust, and ran straight into the forest after Scott and Isaac. Peter and Derek ran after them, both snarling in their Alpha forms to try to get them to submit.

They ran further into the forest, Scott and Isaac working together to keep the three wolves away from the rest of Beacon Hills. It wasn't until they passed by the coyote's territory that Derek realised where they were headed. He leaped forward just as they came into the wildling's clearing, snarling loudly to get them to back down. Erica's eyes flashed uncertainly but Cora and Boyd didn't seem to respond. Then, without a sound or whisper of warning, Derek's wildling dropped from the trees straight onto Boyd's back, his knife plunged into the wolf's side.

Derek jumped forward - whether to protect his wildling or his beta, he didn't know - and then closed his jaws around Boyd's neck. The position made Boyd submissive immediately, and though there was some angry snarling, Boyd settled down. Spurred on by Derek's display, Peter jumped forward while Cora was distracted and did the same, both betas growling in anger, but no longer crazed.

When he was sure that Boyd would no longer be a threat, Derek let go of his beta and looked to where the wildling had been thrown from Boyd's back. He seemed to be breathing in short gasps, blood trickled down the side of his face, but it was a small wound and Derek could tell that he hadn't broken any bones or ribs, which was somewhat of a miracle in itself. The wildling looked at Derek with amber eyes, his bloodied hand loose around his knife, and then passed out.

"Well, I can certainly see the appeal of your little woodland creature," Peter remarked with a smug smirk.

Derek growled at him fiercely.

"Oh, don't worry, I have no designs on your creature. Would you like me to do your job as Alpha and turn him, or are you going to keep your precious creature the way he is?"

Derek hadn't actually thought about giving the wildling the bite. Sure, he wanted him to be part of his pack, but he hadn't thought of the specifics. Lydia was part of the pack and she was still human (more or less), so Derek didn't think he needed to make a decision right then and there. Besides, he would never do so without the person's permission. Not again.

He shifted back to human form - though his wolf protested, wanting to protect the wildling - and picked the young man up easily.

"We'll return to the loft and work out what to do from there. If you are going to be near him, then stay as close to your wolf as possible. He doesn't like humans," Derek said, glancing to the wildling briefly.

"All right, boys and girls, you heard your Alpha. Home time, patch up those wounds, and keep the wolves out in the open when dealing with his pretty little woodland creature."

Derek bit back his snarl at Peter, choosing to ignore him instead, and started walking through the forest with the rest of his pack following meekly.

When he returned to the loft, Derek had a pack to take care of and get under control; an Alpha pack to contain, make a treaty with, or outright kill (they were losing focus without their leader, and Scott and Isaac had already said that the twins were no longer at school - it smelled like they had fled the state entirely); a Darach to find and probably kill; and a long-lost sister to hopefully reunite with.

But for now, Derek would keep his focus on the wildling in his arms, and he could only bring himself to hope that the wildling would agree to become part of his pack one day.

...

The end (maybe).

Thanks for reading!


	19. Indelible

Word: Indelible

...

Stiles was silent and smooth as he climbed out of bed, not wanting to wake his father down the hall; they were both light sleepers now, and Stiles knew that his father hadn't slept much lately, though he'd tried to hide the fact each morning at breakfast. Stiles knew the signs because he hadn't slept much either, both of them playing a game where they pretended not to notice the thick black circles under the other's eyes. John had tried to talk about it, to talk to him about the nogitsune, but the memories were still too fresh for Stiles and he'd clamped up every time his father tried. Now, months later, Stiles still couldn't find a way to talk about what had happened - what he'd done - and John no longer tried, though he still looked at Stiles every now and then as if he wanted to say something.

It was summer now and he could feel the heat outside, but Stiles was dressed in thick winter flannels. Still freezing, he wrapped his thick robe around his perpetually cold body, rubbing his arms to try and warm his limbs, even though he knew it was a futile action. Ever since the nogitsune, his body never stopped being freezing cold, every limb seemed to ache, his head pounded and his chest tightened with every breath; in short, everything just seemed to **hurt.** Although he'd been to both doctors and Deaton, no one could seem to figure out what was wrong with him. There was no explanation for any of it, and it was put down to stress of being a teenager by the doctors at Beacon Hills Memorial. He wished it was as simple as that. Scott helped out now and then, thick black lines travelling up his arms as he leeched out Stiles' pain, but they both knew that he couldn't keep it up forever. Even though Scott probably _would_ keep going until he collapsed, Stiles refused to let him do that.

Padding out of his room, he made his way downstairs, bypassing the creeky floorboard and squeaky step, and into the kitchen. He poured sugar and cocoa into a saucepan with some milk, heating it slowly and carefully, making sure not to make enough noise to wake his father. When it was bubbling, Stiles added more milk and let it heat up again as he took down two mugs from the cupboard. Stirring a few times, Stiles made his way to the front door and unlocked it gently, returning to the kitchen to finish making the hot chocolate.

"You can come inside now," he said, voice soft but still audible for those with werewolf hearing.

The front door opened a second later, Derek making his way directly into the kitchen. Stiles smiled briefly at him, noting that he was wearing his red jumper with the thumbholes, and nodded to the mug which Derek took without a word of protest. It had taken weeks for him to convince Derek to come inside, a week or so longer to get him to sit down with him, and by now, it was a common occurrence for them to fall asleep together on the couch. In fact, most nights, it was the only way Stiles could sleep. He had the feeling that it was the same with Derek, but it was yet another thing that Stiles didn't talk about.

"Marshmallow?" Stiles offered, holding out the glass jar.

Derek picked out one pink and one white marshmallow, dropping the first into his mug and the latter into his mouth. Stiles grinned slightly at the sight and did the same for his own marshmallows. They were both silent as they sipped their drinks, and when they'd finished, Derek headed to the lounge room, sitting on the couch before guiding Stiles to sit between his legs. Stiles closed his eyes, leaning back against Derek's chest contentedly and just breathing as Derek wrapped his arms around his body gently. Derek pressed a chaste kiss to the back of Stiles' neck, where his red-vein scars still showed from the nogitsune, and took Stiles' wrists in his hands. In the beginning, Stiles had loathed the indelible marks; he could see them creeping around his neck every time he saw his reflection, and once, in a fit of anger, he had attempted to scratch them off with blunt nails. The marks didn't bother him quite so much anymore, and Derek made sure he didn't hurt himself.

They both gasped softly as Derek started to drain the pain out of Stiles, his body arching against the werewolf's chest as black veins made their way up Derek's arms. He continued to leech the pain until Stiles stopped shivering in his arms, and when Derek focused again, the sun was starting to filter in through the curtains. He knew he should leave, that the Sheriff probably wouldn't appreciate him being in the house, despite asking for his help last year. But Derek couldn't bring himself to leave, and instead he tightened his hold on Stiles, his face pressed up against the younger man's neck and shoulder as they both fell asleep.

When they woke up, it was to find a blanket covering both of them and a note nearby telling them to wash their own mugs next time.

...

End of the word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	20. Boondoggle

Word: Boondoggle.

...

"What is that?" Derek asked, eyebrow raised as high as it could possibly go.

Stiles watched in fascination as it almost disappeared into Derek's hairline, but then registered his words, and frowned. He pulled the gift back, looking down to the leather cord and trying to feel too defensive. It did look a little crappy, he supposed.

"It's a boondoggle. Made one back when I was a scout, and I happened to have a few leather strips lying around. This one's specific for you; there's different spells for protection and safety. One for happiness, though, y'know, not too big. Don't want the world ending if you laugh or something," Stiles said, grinning crookedly.

"Very funny," Derek said, rolling his eyes. Then he glanced down to the boondoggle and held a hand out for it. "Thanks, Stiles. I'll treasure it always," he said, somewhat sarcastic.

Stiles flushed bright red and dropped the length of leather into his hand, leaving before Derek could insult him further. Derek sighed, watching him go. He'd probably ruined whatever chance he had of being with Stiles long ago, but some part of him couldn't help but make sure it never happened. All of the people he cared about died, and he refused to let the same happen to Stiles.

Looking at the small leather band, Derek didn't bother trying to fit it around his neck. It was small enough to work as a bracelet though, so he slipped it on and tightened one end carefully. The leather felt heavy against his skin for a few moments, then it glowed brightly, making him look away with a blue-eyed snarl. Once the glow faded, Derek was surprised to find that it felt like he'd been wearing the boondoggle for years and he was somewhat glad that its presence wouldn't bother him. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, Derek sent a text to Stiles to thank him, and then didn't let himself think about the gift again. (Not thinking about the owner of said gift was a harder task to accomplish.)

...

Months passed, and while the others in the pack had never commented on Derek's leather bracelet, he simply thought they didn't want to embarrass Stiles. He didn't bother trying to take it off because as time went on, Derek realised that he did feel a bit happier now and then. Not ecstatic and pure optimism, but enough to actually laugh and smile every so often. Right now, however, there was no smile or hint of laughter in sight. In fact, Derek's glare had probably returned three-fold and was harsher than it had ever been before.

The witch in front of him deserved it, though. She'd whisked him out of his loft with a spell (it had been intended for Peter, apparently), and since her plan to trap and torture Peter had fallen through, she decided that he would suffice as an alternative. Derek had survived a lot of torture over the years, but this witch was one of the most sadistic (and that included Kate) and she'd spent a lot of time harvesting his blood (her words, not Derek's) for various spells and rituals that she had actually admitted she would probably never perform.

There was a loud crash outside, followed by even louder cursing, and Derek lifted his head with a laboured breath when he realised he recognised the voice. He winced when his chest pulled in pain at the mere motion of lifting his head, but the witch was distracted by the noise and didn't notice.

"Hey, let him go!"

Really, Stiles? That's the best you've got? Derek thought dizzily. He must have lost a lot of blood because Stiles kind of looked incorporeal. Maybe it was the light?

"Don't give me that look, Sourwolf. I'm running on fumes here," Stiles added with a brief glare. "Now, let him go before I make you regret it."

The witch laughed. "Just how do you plan on doing that, boy? I can see your spark, and it's nothing compared to my power."

Stiles didn't seem fazed and just grinned broadly. "We'll see about that, witch."

He dug in his pocket, and pulled out a strip of leather, tying it around his wrist. The moment the knot was tied, Stiles was seemingly flung through the air directly at Derek. He managed a slight wince of pain as Stiles slammed into his bloodied body, gasping. Stiles apologised, lifting his wrist to touch the two leather bands together, and then they both disappeared, the witch's shriek following them.

"Oh, fuck. It worked. Holy shit. I didn't think it would work, but it worked!" Stiles said, looking so damn pleased with himself. "Fuck!" Stiles cursed as Derek fell forward onto him, clearly exhausted.

Now that he was out of the witch's circle, Derek could feel his wounds closing up slowly. He was alive and would survive, but for now he just needed to sleep. He'd barely finished the thought before he did fall asleep, Stiles' arms around him and struggling to hold him up.

...

When Derek woke up, he could hear Stiles talking to Scott on the phone, and just took a moment to listen.

"Dude! Just stop judging me, all right? I did it, okay? I saved him, and yeah, that witch could've killed me, but I'm still here and alive!"

"Stiles, Deaton says that you almost killed yourself with that spell! You've probably just lost a few years off your life because of it!"

Stiles just laughed sourly. "You think I plan on living that long, Scotty? Maybe before, yeah, but now? Not exactly making any retirement plans, y'know?"

Scott sighed heavily. "Yeah, I know. You know that you can leave any time you - "

"No fucking way, Scott. I'm in this now, and I'm not leaving, no matter what you try to do or stay, okay? I'm here 'til the end."

Scott sighed again, though this one sounded more relieved than concerned. "I know you are, Stiles. I'm glad you are; wouldn't want anyone else by my side."

"Oh, stop. I'm blushing," Stiles said sarcastically (Derek could almost hear him rolling his eyes).

"Yeah, yeah. Go check on your patient. Let me know when Derek's fit enough to go for a run, okay?"

Stiles snorted. "When isn't Derek fit? In fact, in a dream I had - "

"I don't want to know any more about your sordid little fantasies, Stiles. Not after last time!"

"Hey, you asked Isaac to dress up in garter stockings after I told you about that; you don't get to judge me."

"When it's Derek I do."

"You suck. You lose all best friend privileges for the rest of the week."

"It's Saturday."

"Yeah, you're lucky I like you. Now go play with your boy and his scarves or something. He has a thing about his scarves smelling like you."

"Really? I thought that was just about scarves."

"Dude, if Isaac got any more heart eyes while wearing a Scott-scented scarf, he would literally have hearts for eyes," Stiles said, shaking his head as he wandered over to Derek's bed. "Oh, hey Derek. You're awake," he said, hanging up on Scott immediately. "Uh, how much of that did you hear?"

"Enough to be reconsidering buying socks on my next shopping trip," Derek admitted, trying not to smirk too much.

Stiles went bright red and coughed a bit, whacking his chest. "Right, uh. Can we just pretend that you didn't hear that?"

Derek was silent for a moment, watching as Stiles tried to overcome his embarrassment. "Is what Scott said true?"

"Look, it was just a thing I was thinking about one night, and I thought you'd look hot in black garters, and ... that's not what you're talking about, is it?" Stiles trailed off at Derek's amused look. "What about what Scott said?"

"The spell you did to find me and bring me back; did it really take years off your life?"

"Uh, yeah, a couple. It's nothing too major - I mean, I'm not going to drop dead in the next month or something - I'll just have to be willing to die around the age of 85 or so. Although, at this point, I'd be pretty fucking please if I even reached 45," Stiles admitted with a shrug. "Seriously, don't go all doom and gloom on me, sourwolf. It was my choice and I made it."

"You could have just waited until the pack found me."

"Dude, you were in Ireland. There was no fucking way they would've found you in time," Stiles said, shaking his head. "Just say thank you, or glare at me and tell me to leave, whatever, okay? I'm not going to apologise for saving you or bringing you back, not when I won't mean a word of it."

Derek didn't hear a single tremor or jump in Stiles' heartbeat, and he nodded slowly, fingers playing with the leather boondoggle on his wrist. "Thank you for saving me, Stiles."

Stiles' jaw dropped and he stared at Derek. "Wait, what? Did that witch transplant your personality or something? You actually thanked me?!"

"I'm starting to regret it now," Derek muttered, rolling his eyes.

Stiles laughed and bounded over to the bed, moving to sit beside him. "You said it, you can't take it back now. And you're very welcome, Derek. Now, how're you feeling after that bitch tried to drain you?"

"Not bad, considering," he replied, glancing down to see his chest whole and no remnants of blood in sight. "Did you bathe me?"

"Yeah. Used a bit of magic for it, since I didn't think you'd appreciate me seeing all your junk while you were unconscious."

"I'm not unconscious now," Derek pointed out, smirking slightly.

"Oh, fuck. Maybe I did the spell wrong and fucked up your personality?" Stiles murmured, looking horrified.

Derek shook his head and pulled Stiles in by his plaid shirt. "I'm attempting to flirt with you, Stiles. It's not a personality transplant, okay? You drive me crazy, and I'm sick of trying to stay away from you to keep you safe. Not when you can't seem to keep yourself out of trouble for less than a month."

"This coming from the guy that got caught in a witch's trap set for Peter," Stiles snorted, but licked his lips and watched Derek for any other anomalies.

Derek scowled at that, which seemed to make Stiles feel better. "Peter is going to get his ass kicked for that, believe me on that. But first, you and I are going to have a very long and detailed talk."

"That's it? Talk?" Stiles asked, blinking in surprise.

"Yes, talk. First, we're going to start with that comment you made about black garters, and we'll work our way up from there," Derek said with a smirk, moving to kiss Stiles briefly.

Stiles pulled away dazedly, licking his lips. That was a talk he was more than willing to have. Multiple times over, in fact.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	21. Meliorism

Word: Meliorism

...

"How do you manage such optimism all the time, Derek? I don't think one person should be allowed to be so sunny and smiling all the freaking time!" Stiles groaned, flopping over the back of the couch, his head pressed into the back cushions. "I don't want to deal with the McCall pack ever again. I'm running away."

"Very funny, Stiles. Get your head out of the couch," Derek muttered, shoving at Stiles' head without looking away from his book.

"Don't wanna," Stiles replied, voice muffled.

"What did Scott do this time?" Derek asked his mate, rolling his eyes.

"He talked down a boggart. An actual boggart, feeding off human misery and fear, and he **talked** it into leaving Beacon Hills."

"Must've been some talk," Derek muttered, raising his eyebrow as he returned his attention back to his book.

"Oh, it was. A stirring speech about living life and making the world a better place through meliorism, blah, blah, blah. Remind me why you brought me here?" Stiles asked with a groan. "We could've stayed in New York, y'know."

"You hated New York."

"I'm sure I hated it less than I remember hating it," Stiles groaned, flipping over the couch, kicking Derek in the back of the head on his way over. "We had fun in New York. Remember that first apartment we had?"

"The one with the death threats scrawled on the bathroom wall in pig blood?" Derek asked, rubbing his head before moving Stiles' feet into his lap.

"Yeah. That one cleaned up nice."

"You refused to step foot in that bathroom for two whole months, Stiles."

"We had some good sex in there, too," Stiles continued as if Derek hadn't replied. "Is that the apartment we broke the towel rack in, or was it the other one?"

"It was the other one; the one with the green and yellow kitchen," he answered, setting his book aside now.

"Ugh, I hated that kitchen."

"Didn't stop you from fucking me every chance you got when we were in there," Derek pointed out smugly.

"You **cook naked**, what else was I supposed to do?"

"A bit of warning would be nice next time; those oil burns took a whole day to heal."

"You still looked gorgeous," Stiles replied, leaning over to press a kiss to his lips. "Now, which place did I figure out how to auto-fellatio?"

"That was here, Stiles. You went to that yoga class with Lydia, came home and woke me up after I'd been on surveillance all night just to demonstrate just what you'd learnt."

"Don't act like you didn't love it," Stiles said, smirking at him. "All right, I like this place again. We can stay here. New York sucks."

"So do you," Derek said, snorting at his own joke. "And don't think you're getting out of dealing with the McCall pack that easily."

"Fuck. Why'd it have to be me anyway?"

"You look closer to their age than I do, so it was easier to get you into the school. Besides, Scott's already talking like you two are best friends," Derek said, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"That's because Jackson's a douchenozzle with extra douche, and I don't like bullies," Stiles muttered.

"Yeah, I know, Stiles. You've only got a few more months until you graduate, so just keep on going until then, all right?"

"Easy for you to say; you don't have to deal with teenage bullshit for the second time in your life... Besides, with everyone thinking I'm only 17, I'm being warned against spending time with you. They think you're going to corrupt my innocence or something."

"Who's they?" Derek asked tightly.

"School counsellor; she talks like she knows more than she says, and she's got the smell of an emissary about her. I'll be confronting her about it tomorrow if she doesn't back the fuck off."

"If she doesn't, let me know. I'm not about to let you be taken away from me, not again," Derek said, pulling Stiles onto his lap, pressing his lips against the nape of Stiles' neck.

"Please, like I'd let anyone try that again. I'd go fucking rabid," Stiles muttered, turning his head to kiss Derek heatedly. "Any word on the werewolf killers?"

"The agency thinks it might be the Argents. I've got Boyd and Erica surveilling them."

"So they won't be back for a few hours then?" Stiles asked with a suggestive grin, his eyes turning gold. "Race you to the bedroom," he said, jumping up and running off.

Derek stood and followed at a leisurely pace. "If we break anything, it's being docked from your pay this time," he called, smirking when Stiles swore at him.

"Fine, Alpha of mine. But the first one to orgasm has to deal with the McCall pack!"

(They tied. Scott was surprised to see Alpha Derek Hale the next day, but just smiled brightly and let him inside with Stiles following.)

...

End of the word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	22. Hokum

Word: Hokum

...

"I'm not quite sure what to say to this, Stiles. The content is definitely..."

"Unique?" Stiles offered, giving his English professor a wry grin.

"Well, it certainly is that, but... I'm also concerned about the graphic themes you have written. I understand that it is a work of fantasy, but your main character, Scout, definitely seems to get into situations that end with a lot of bloodshed. Is that much truly necessary? And the violence that happens to your main character's friends seems to be over the top at times."

"Yeah, you're telling me," Stiles muttered under his breath.

"That being said, the story is very intriguing, and I'm looking forward to seeing the romantic side of the story develop further. The two minor characters you have here, Stan and Dennis, have a very unique relationship. It's a plot worth considering working on further for your final assignment."

"We-They're not... It's not a romantic relationship!"

"Oh. I'm sorry, I simply assumed that with all of the long gazes and locking eyes, the emotional development with both of their characters to provide support to each other... It seemed a likely outcome for them."

Stiles went red and didn't reply.

"Well, I just wanted to talk with you about trying to lessen the amount of physical violence that occurs in your story," the professor said, sighing. "Just think about it, and we'll discuss it when you're due to submit your next draft, all right?"

Stiles nodded, grabbed the assignment from his professor, and promptly left.

_Romantic side of the story. Pah! There was no romantic side! There was annoyance, and sure, Derek looked good without a shirt, but that didn't mean there was romance! Pure and utter hokum_, Stiles thought to himself, stuffing his essay in his bag harshly and leaving. _It was obviously a stupid idea to major in Creative Writing_.

He stopped short on seeing Derek in the college parking lot, leaning up against the Jeep like he was meant to be there. (Some part of Stiles' brain immediately latched on to the idea and started writing the next part of his story: _Dennis picking Stan up after he'd finished work, cool and collected around everyone else, but when they were alone, Dennis would smile at Stan like he meant the world to him, and ... there was no romantic side in the story! In fact, he had a feeling that Dennis was going to die an untimely and painful death_, Stiles thought viciously.)

"What are you doing here, Derek?" Stiles asked.

"The others said you had a meeting with your English professor; I thought I'd drop by to see how you were doing," Derek said, shrugging slightly.

"Why would you do that? Why do you even care?"

Derek seemed surprised at Stiles' snapped response, eyes widening as his eyebrows raised. "Of course I care, Stiles. You're pack."

Stiles didn't want to believe that there was hesitation before Derek said _pack_, and even if there was, it didn't mean a thing.

"Yep. That's me: pack. Pack and nothing else. I'm going now, unless you plan on keeping me here longer?" Stiles asked, purposefully looking at his door behind Derek's back.

"Oh, sure. Sorry," Derek said, stepping aside quickly. "Have a good night. It's a full moon, so stay inside, okay?"

"I know it's a full moon; just like I've always known for the past year of full moons. What the hell's going on with you, Derek?"

"N-nothing. Just... I don't want you getting hurt," he admitted, ears pink.

"Then stop doing stuff like this," Stiles growled, getting in his Jeep and slamming the door shut.

"Wait, what? Stiles?" Derek asked.

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuck._

Stiles ignored Derek, ignored his perfect and confused face, and put his Jeep in reverse, tearing out of the parking lot without looking back.

He totally blamed his professor for this. There was no romance, not even if he wanted there to be, and that's the way it would always be.

Stiles made it home in a record fifteen minutes (amazingly, he didn't get pulled over for speeding), and he shouldn't have been surprised, but when he opened the Jeep door, Derek was standing there at his front door. He still looked confused, and he wasn't even winded (the jerk). Stiles seriously contemplated just leaving again, but he had the feeling that Derek would just follow him. He glowered and pushed his way past Derek, wishing that he was like a vampire and needed permission to enter his house. Despite the door that Stiles didn't bother closing, Derek still hung back on the front porch, looking as much like a puppy as Stiles had ever seen him.

"Hurry up before the neighbours start talking," Stiles muttered, heading up to his bedroom without looking back.

Derek stepped inside and followed Stiles immediately, his expression softening as he slowly started to realise what Stiles had meant. He closed the bedroom door behind him, watching Stiles as he pulled his shirt off and changed into an old t-shirt with faded writing. Stiles pretended not to notice his gaze and sat at his desk.

"Well? You followed me home, what do you want?"

_You, Dennis would tell Stan. Only you_...

"I'm not sure, actually. I think I want to kiss you."

"What?" Stiles asked, unsure if he'd heard Derek correctly or his subconscious had suddenly started taking over the real world.

"Can I kiss you, Stiles?" Derek asked softly, moving forward until their knees were touching.

Stiles licked his lips and nodded. Derek lifted him in the next heartbeat, mouth sliding against his, and it was even more than Stiles had ever thought it could be.

_Maybe his professor was right and there was a need to further develop the romantic side of the story. He would definitely try to give Stan and Dennis the ending they deserved_, Stiles thought to himself, pulling Derek close for another heated kiss.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	23. Xyst

Word: Xyst

...

Stiles was reading a book that Deaton had loaned him when Derek returned to the loft in the early hours of the morning. He'd spent most of his night patrolling Beacon Hills (Scott was off on a holiday with Allison and Isaac, and he'd handed over his territorial duties temporarily to Derek because neither of them trusted Peter) and while there was nothing threatening the town this week, he still felt it prudent to make sure it stayed that way.

"Hey, you're up late," Derek commented, dropping a kiss to the top of Stiles' head as he passed to get changed for bed.

"Yeah, well, _someone_ in this pack has to keep up to date on the supernatural world," Stiles snapped.

Derek paused, shirt halfway off his body, and he pulled it back down before turning to face Stiles again. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Stiles chose to give him the cold shoulder, glaring as he returned to his book. Derek was exhausted and didn't have the patience to deal with whatever the fuck this was about, so he continued to their bedroom and stripped down, tugging on a pair of sweatpants. He did a few breathing exercises to calm himself, breathed in the scent of one of Stiles' shirts to help with the calming aspect, and then returned to the lounge area of the loft a few minutes later.

Stiles had his head resting over the edge of the lounge's armrest and looked to either have a migraine or be contemplating someone's murder, Derek wasn't entirely sure.

"Ready to talk?" Derek asked.

"I'm sick of everyone's stupidity. I have to deal with an insane level of stupid at work - like, seriously, I'm going to fucking slap the next person to ask me where the bathroom is after they've just walked past the fucking _neon sign_ for the fucking bathrooms! Then I come home and have to deal with even more stupidity because no one knows what the fuck a xyst is, Lydia was smart and didn't answer her phone, and the others can't be bothered to look at a fucking dictionary!"

"What's a Roman garden got to do with anything?" Derek asked as Stiles' vent trailed off.

He was somewhat glad for his degree in Roman and Greek History now.

"Oh, _thank you!_ Sometimes I forget that you're so fucking smart, and if I wasn't so pissed off, I'd blow you in gratitude, because _arrghh_," Stiles groaned, flopping back over the armrest again.

"I don't know if I should take that as a compliment or not," Derek muttered, shaking his head.

Stiles groaned again, sliding his body back onto the couch to sit up properly. He sighed and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, obviously fighting a migraine now. "I'm sorry, Derek. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm just... I'm just so **tired** with everything right now, and I took my frustration out on you. I'll sleep on the couch if you want me to."

"You sleeping on the couch isn't going to help your mood at all. Come on; time to put the book down and come to bed. Whatever this is can be dealt with tomorrow after we've both slept, okay?" Derek said, not taking no for an answer as he tugged Stiles off the couch and guided him to the bedroom.

Stiles muttered something under his breath about a Chimera that Derek just **did not** want to know about right then. He pulled Stiles' shirt off, working his hands over his shoulders and back firmly, easing the tension in his body slowly but surely. By the time he finished a few minutes later, Stiles was soft and pliant, and let Derek undress him to his briefs. Stiles sighed and kissed Derek gently, thanking him without words, before pulling Derek over to the bed. Curling up facing each other, Derek and Stiles kissed languidly, arms stroking and touching lightly. They fell asleep that way, with Stiles' lips still pressed against Derek's neck as sleep claimed them, wrapped up in each other.

The next morning, Stiles and Derek woke up to find the Chimera already dealt with by Erica, Boyd, and Lydia. They thanked the other three, not complaining in the slightest, and then deservedly spent the rest of the day in bed.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	24. Braggart

Word: Braggart

...

Derek wasn't a fan of being tied to a fence and tortured via electrocution, but unfortunately, in his life, it seemed that this exact thing happened often enough that he could adjust to the pain, excruciating though it was. Most times he was tortured on his own, but sometimes his uncle was hanging right there on the fence beside him. Derek usually loathed the people torturing him, but he got a sick kind of pleasure from listening to Peter scream because he just **knew** that Laura would have _screamed_ while Peter _cut her the fuck in half_.

Right now, however, he's faced with a rather new development in his torture experience. He's been water boarded, electrocuted within an inch of his wolf's life, physically maimed, and even emotionally manipulated to the point where the woman he thought he'd loved killed his entire fucking family. This, however, is worse than all of that. Because this is his mate, his very **human** mate (one that's apparently too stubborn to accept the bite), and Stiles is in front of him and screaming in pain.

Being forced to see Stiles beaten and hit, hearing his ribs creak under the pressure, the blood congealing under his skin to form bruises, smell the blood as those bruises become scrapes, it's all too much for Derek to handle. He's wolfed out and snarling, pulling on the cuffs around his wrists, and though he can smell his own blood seeping down his arms from the damage he's doing, Derek can't feel a thing. He's too focused on Stiles screaming and laughing and taunting their fucking captors because - of course! - what the fuck **else** would Stiles do while confronted with a psychotic bastard with a hard fist and a sharp knife?

"You'll _talk_, boy. I make _everyone_ talk," the knifeman snarled.

"You! You're... such... a fuck- ... fucking... braggart," Stiles breathed, laughing between each laboured gasp for air.

There was a slight pause of confusion - _great, they'd been captured by a thug with no knowledge of simple Shakespearian insults_ - then the thug lowered his knife, sneering over at Derek as he sliced into Stiles' arm.

"Ow-ow-ow-ow-_owwww!_ _Fuck_, at least give some warning before you go slicing me up like a turkey!" Stiles groaned.

The thug returned his attention back to Stiles, obviously surprised at how steady his voice sounded. Derek just grinned because this is his favourite part. Stiles straightened up slowly, his eyes glowing white, and he smirked at the thug.

"Now that you've purposely spilled my blood, _please,_ allow me to return the favour," Stiles snarled.

The guy dropped to his knees, various thin slices appearing across his body, blood seeping through his clothes as he screamed in a mix of pain and fear. It's a heady scent, and Derek's body shudders as he breathed it in. Stiles shook his hands, the ropes around his wrists falling off like they were made of silk, and grinned at Derek as he made his way over, the thug still screaming behind him.

"They should really know better by now, don't you think?" Stiles asked with a sigh, touching the fence.

The thick iron cuffs around Derek's wrists simply melted away and he dropped to his feet soundlessly. He didn't reply, wrapping his arms around Stiles as he felt his wounds start to close up.

"Of course, if we actually left any alive after they attempted doing stupid things like this, maybe word would get around more," Stiles mused, licking one of the rapidly closing wounds on Derek's neck.

"But that would mean letting one live. This guy doesn't even know Shakespeare, so we can't let _him_ go," Derek muttered.

Stiles hummed, pulling back as he contemplated Derek's words. Then he smirked broadly, his eyes glowing white again. "You're absolutely right. We cannot let such an uncultured swine to live."

Stiles pulled Derek in for a kiss that would have been deemed inappropriate had it been seen by others. Behind him, there was a gurgling noise as the man's blood stopped seeping out of his wounds and instead redirected into his throat, airway, and lungs. He had choked to death on his own blood before Stiles pulled away from Derek, licking his lips.

"Come on, Derek. Let's go home," Stiles murmured, stepping over the dead body calmly as he lead Derek out of the warehouse.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	25. Gnomist

Word: Gnomist

...

"Where are they?" Scott asked, skidding to a halt in the entrance of Derek's loft, claws and fangs extended.

"Where's who?" Derek asked, frowning.

He was in the process of getting ready for bed, his toothbrush hanging in his grip loosely, and sweatpants slung low on his hips. He raised an eyebrow at Scott, who looked around the loft suspiciously, sniffing slightly.

There was a crashing sound behind Scott, and he spun around with a roar, coming face to face with Stiles who eeped in response.

"Geez, Scott. You didn't let me finish! You'd think with all of your werewolf hearing you'd actually realise your phone was ringing this whole damn time," Stiles muttered, shaking his head.

"Would either of you care to explain what's going on here?" Derek demanded.

Stiles finally turned his attention to Derek, and his eyes widened at the sight of Derek standing there looking positively debauched. "_Uhhh_..."

"You said gnomes," Scott hissed, nudging Stiles sharply in the ribs.

Stiles hissed in pain, rubbing his side with a wince. Derek took a step forward - Scott still didn't realise how strong he could be sometimes - but Stiles shook his head.

"I said _gnomist_, dude. Y'know the saying: _power tends to corrupt, absolute power corrupts absolutely_? It was meant to be like that. _Hotness tends to corrupt, absolute hotness corrupts absolutely_," Stiles muttered, obviously trying to keep his voice low but Derek still heard.

He raised an eyebrow slightly at the glance Stiles flicked his way, the gesture deepening when Stiles blushed.

"But you were talking about De... Ohhhhh."

Scott's drawn out response had Derek's eyebrows burrowing together, and he doubted that he wanted to know any more than he'd already heard.

"Now that you get it, can you take me to the hospital? I think you broke my ribs," Stiles groaned.

Scott looked between Stiles and Derek, obviously calculating something in his head, because the grin that spread across his face a moment later had Derek wincing. Stiles must have seen it too because he tried to straighten up and play off the pain, but he gasped and clutched his side before he could say anything, Derek ran forward to grab him when Scott didn't move, and he glared at him.

"Derek's Camaro will get you to the hospital faster than my bike. Take care of him, Derek," Scott called, leaving before either one could protest.

"I'mma kill him. Gonna make a bat out of wolfsbane, shove it down his throat and asphyxiate him. I know you can hear me, Scott!" Stiles called, ending with a whimper.

Faint laughter was the only response. Derek helped Stiles up carefully and made him lean against the doorframe while he hurried to get changed. The drive to the hospital was quiet except for Stiles' whimpers of pain when they went over a bump in the road.

Melissa saw to Stiles straight away, sending him off for an x-ray while Derek stayed in the waiting room. She called for Derek when Stiles was finished, hopped up on pain medication with two cracked ribs.

"He'll be fine in a few weeks, but the medication should help with any pain. If he has any difficulty breathing, let me know straight away," Melissa instructed, pressing a prescription for Stiles in Derek's hand. "Are you able to look after him? The Sheriff's out of town tonight, and Stiles was meant to be staying at my house, but as Scott did this to him, I'd rather he was with someone trustworthy," she added, frowning slightly.

"All right," Derek said, surprised that she trusted him.

"Thank you, Derek. Stiles, you be good for Derek, all right?" Melissa said sternly.

"I'll be an angel," Stiles said, grinning up at Derek dopily.

Derek sighed and guided Stiles out to his car carefully. "Can you put your own belt on, Stiles?"

"Think so. Not rocket science. But there _are_ three belts. This is some good stuff," Stiles murmured, closing his eyes and sighing contently.

Derek sighed and put Stiles' belt on for him. Stiles seemed to come out of his stupor when Derek got in the driver's seat and closed the door.

"I was gonna call you an' ask you out this weekend, y'know," Stiles admitted, yawning widely. "If you said no, then Scott was gonna be there for me with ice cream an' double stuffed Oreos. Not that I would've told him _why_ he needed ice cream and Oreos, but he wouldn't've asked. He's nice like that. Well, except when he's not," Stiles murmured, blinking owlishly and resting his head against the window.

"Yeah, except then," Derek muttered, rolling his eyes. "You can ask me out when you're not hopped up on pain medication, okay? I'll even say yes."

Stiles snored loudly in response, his face squished against the passenger window. Derek tried not to grin at the sight and turned the car on to head home slowly, trying not to disturb his passenger.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	26. Embroil

Word: Embroil

...

Stiles surveyed the scene before him, a twisted grin on his lips as he watched his friends fight - probably to their deaths. He had waited so long for this; for years he had been shoved to the side, remembered only as an afterthought, and now, now he was _finally_ going to be seen - _remembered_ - for what he truly was. He watched as the chaos unfolded, monsters unlike any had seen before pouring forth from the Nemeton's split trunk, and with a single thought, the army of monsters waged a war against his friends.

Derek was embroiled in the madness, and slowly made his way up the hill to where Stiles stood beside the Nemeton. His fangs were bared, eyes glowing blue, and his claws were covered in blood.

_Probably Kira's_, Stiles thought with a smile.

"Stiles!" Scott screamed, and he glanced over to him, head cocked to the side. "Why are you doing this?!" Scott demanded, trying to get away from a minotaur.

"Because I woke up screaming every single night for a whole year. I had nightmares about the future - this future, in fact - after we defeated the Darach. It was _long_ before the nogitsune came along, and I told you _time and time again_ that I was losing my mind, but you didn't listen. Even after the nogitsune was gone, the nightmares kept on coming. You even saw that the darkness around my heart was so much worse than yours; I know you did - I saw it every day in your eyes when you thought I wasn't looking - but still, you didn't offer to help me.

"You had Kira and she was all that mattered to you. Derek saw though, and he offered to help me. Sure, in the beginning, he thought he'd be able to help me redeem myself, but we both soon saw the mistake in that. His darkness matched mine, and he and I both realised that _nothing_ we did would ever be good enough for the rest of you.

"Then, one morning, I didn't wake up screaming. I'd had the same nightmare that I'd had for the past year, but it was no longer something to be afraid of. It became a dream instead. So, to answer your question: I'm doing this because I want to be true to myself and my dreams," Stiles said, sarcasm lacing his words.

Behind Scott, the minotaur raised up on its back legs, crushing down on him forcefully, and started tearing at his flesh.

Derek snorted, shaking his head. "A touch melodramatic, don't you think, Stiles?"

"Like you can talk; I saw what you did to Peter."

"True. It's been a long time coming though," Derek snarled, looking down to the battlefield where the individual pieces of his uncle were scattered.

Stiles pressed a kiss to Derek's lips and then guided him through the fray and back into battle.

...

Stiles woke up to his alarm blaring in his ear, and he slammed on it with a sleep-heavy hand, blinking wearily as he sat up and rubbed at his eyes. He yawned, stretched, and scratched as he headed downstairs.

"Hey, you're up. I was just about to come check up on you," John said with a smile.

"Morning. Must've overslept," Stiles murmured, sliding onto his chair at the kitchen bench.

John just nodded, putting a bowl of cereal in front of Stiles and watching as he ate it slowly, obviously still waking up.

"Deaton left another message on the answering machine; he really wants to start your training as soon as possible. Not saying you have to go today, but just... think about it, all right?" he asked, hoping he wasn't pushing the topic again.

Stiles nodded slowly, stirring his Cheerios as he chewed a mouthful.

"Derek called as well. He wants you to drop by the loft this afternoon if you're able; said he's got something to discuss with you?" John added, hoping for a bit more detail from his son.

"Probably forgot how to put phone numbers on his phone, if he called the house," Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes.

John was reluctant to change the topic, especially when Stiles seemed so calm, but he just _had_ to ask. "So... You overslept; must've been a good sleep then? No nightmares?"

Stiles' spoon clattered to the bench, and he stared at his father in shock. "What?"

"You didn't wake up screaming," John replied, already wishing that he hadn't said a thing. "First time in a year, right?"

"Right. Of course... It's been a whole year," Stiles echoed. He looked up at John abruptly, startling him though John didn't show it. "I'll go to Deaton's today; I really shouldn't put off training anymore. And I'll go by Derek's this afternoon, see what he wants," he added.

John smiled genuinely, clapping Stiles on the shoulder warmly. "So, you dreamed something, then?" he asked, getting a nod in return. "Was I in it?" he asked with a chuckle, heading over to the door to leave for his shift at the police station.

"Yes, actually; everyone was in it."

"Must've been some dream," John called, pulling his jacket on.

"Oh, it was. I dreamed about the future," Stiles said, a twisted grin on his lips.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	27. Sparge

Word: Sparge

...

Stiles sat back on his heels, wiping his sweaty forehead as he looked over to the clock hanging on the greenhouse wall. It's almost one, and he'd been gardening since eight that morning. Stiles was pleased with the work he'd done so far. Wolfsbane seeds were sparged across the soil beds, and by mid-year, he should have enough shoots to fill orders for both Deaton and Lydia.

Standing, he pulled off his gardening gloves and went outside, breathing in the fresh air. He loved his greenhouse, but it could get seriously hot in there, the air damp and wet. Stiles breathed in deeply a few more times, eyes closed and face turned up to the midday sun.

"Finished worshipping the earth, or do you need some more time?" Derek called, grinning at him.

"Depends on whether you want to join me or not," Stiles answered, a grin tugging on his lips.

Derek didn't answer, but a few seconds later, Stiles felt arms wrapping around his waist. He smiled and leaned back against Derek, head resting on his shoulder.

"It's a nice day today," Stiles murmured.

"You say that even if it's raining," Derek replied, albeit fondly, pressing a kiss below Stiles' ear.

"Just because it's raining doesn't mean it's not a nice day," he said, then frowned. "Is that a double negative? Meh, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. I should be worried," Derek said, a low chuckle tickling Stiles' neck.

"Mmm, I'm finished worshipping the earth now. Let's go inside, we'll have lunch and then I'll worship you instead."

"Let's stay outside a while longer; I like seeing you like this after you've been gardening," Derek admitted, nose pressed against Stiles' sweaty neck.

Stiles tilted his head to the side so Derek could continue scenting him, smiling as he laced their fingers together, toes buried in the soft grass below, the sun shining down on them warmly, and the trees swaying in the soft wind.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	28. Prate

Word: Prate

...

Stiles has a special ability to drive Derek absolutely insane. He talks constantly, as if he has no filter on his thoughts and simply has to say everything that comes to mind. The things he comes up with can range from complete and utter nonsense to a sharp razor wit laced with sarcasm, and sometimes, Stiles even says something that's useful and could actually be considered wise. Right now, however, Stiles is prating on about something that is definitely not wise nor useful.

"Hey, sourwolf! Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes, Stiles. You're talking about demons eating salted popcorn."

"What's that face for? You don't think it'd work?" Stiles asks, eyes wide.

"It's a TV show, Stiles, what I think is irrelevant."

"Ugghhhh. No, it's not! What you think _matters to me_. Now, do you think it'd be enough to drive a demon out or not?"

Derek sighs, wishing he'd never agreed to marathon this damn show with Stiles in the first place. But, as insane as Stiles can drive him, there's not much he can say no to when Stiles gets that look on his face. (Or he's naked, and Stiles _knows_ that, damn him.)

"It wouldn't work because they need a lot of salt to exorcise themselves from a host. You saw that woman eating bags of rock salt after giving birth to the Antichrist; I doubt a bucket of popcorn's going to do much."

Stiles kind of stares at him for a moment, Derek's little speech being processed in his mind. Then he grins. "That's awesome. I knew you were paying attention to the show!"

Derek puts his arm around Stiles' shoulders, pulling his boyfriend in close. Stiles smiles at him broadly and snuggles in closer, turning his attention back to the TV as Derek presses play on the remote. The opening credits for the show aren't even finished when Stiles shifts on the lounge and looks up at Derek, biting his lip as his eyes widen on purpose, the brat.

"Derek? Can you get me some popcorn?" Stiles asks.

Derek groans, his head hitting the back of the couch. He shoves Stiles off the couch unceremoniously on his way to the kitchen, ignoring his yelp of surprise.

"Love you too, sourwolf!" Stiles calls, grinning.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	29. Prevaricator

Word: Prevaricator

...

"She hates me," Stiles moaned, flopping down on the bed next to Derek and burying his head on his pillow.

"She doesn't hate you, Stiles. Sally's just upset that you haven't been home in three months, so she's giving you the cold shoulder," Derek replied.

"You forgave me for not being able to come home," Stiles mumbled, turning his head to bite at the hem of Derek's henley.

Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles over his glasses, then shook his head and returned his attention to his book. "That's because we had three straight days of sex," he said, a little smugly.

"Yeah, we did. Would've gone for four if we didn't need to buy groceries," Stiles lamented.

"I seem to remember you begging for a rest after day two," Derek murmured, turning the page in his book.

"Hey, my cock hasn't had that much attention in months! I was chafing."

"That was just beard burn. You survived."

"Yeah... Let's never tell anyone that you collected Sally's saliva to heal my beard burned balls, okay?"

"I don't kiss and tell, Stiles."

"Seriously? Not even after I do something really flexible?"

"You mean you tell people?" Derek asked, putting his book aside to look at Stiles incredulously. Stiles flushed red in response. "Who knows about our love life, Stiles?"

"Love life? Geez, could you make it sound any sappier? Okay, okay! Scott, and my Dad, and probably Melissa. Allison, everyone in the pack... A few people at college; fine, a lot of people at college. Don't look at me like that, I just want to brag about you! And having sex with you... I might have written an ode to your cock for one of my assessment pieces," Stiles said, and the side of his mouth twitched, a tell of his lying ways.

"You little prevaricator," Derek growled, pulling Stiles onto his lap and tickling him mercilessly.

The sound of Stiles peals of laughter must have roused Sally's curiosity, because soon the door was being nudged open by a green snout. Half a minute later, Sally bounded onto the bed and tried to join in with the fun, snuffling against them and licking them joyfully. Green ooze smeared the sheets, and Sally turned on her back to present her stomach. Stiles grinned in pure delight, almost jumping out of Derek's lap in an effort to get to Sally faster. Derek frowned at the loss of his warmth, then raised his eyebrows when Stiles basically shoved his ass in his face as he bent over Sally to rub her stomach.

"Aww, Der-bear was right, you were just upset with me! You don't hate me, do you, Sal? No, of course you don't! You'd never hate me, would you?" Stiles cooed, rubbing her belly as she snuffled under his hands, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

"Now that you two have made up, how about you go out for a ride? I'll stay here and wash the sheets," Derek said, eyeing the green ooze with a sigh.

"You sure, Der?" Stiles asked, pausing in his ministrations to look at him.

"I'm sure. Go before I change my mind," Derek muttered, adjusting his sweatpants slightly; the sight of Stiles' ass did things to him. As did the rest of him, really.

"All right. C'mon, Sal. Let's go for a ride," Stiles said, Sally leaping off the bed (and landing with a spectacular thud - an 800 pound dragon with multiple legs could do little else) and racing out to the door. "Thanks, Der. I'll text when we're on our way back," Stiles added.

"Try not to get kidnapped again."

"Love you too," Stiles muttered, turning to kiss Derek firmly. "And don't think I can't see you trying to hide your erection," he added, smirking as he pulled away. "I'll be back soon, then I'll help you dirty the sheets again."

Derek made an incoherent noise at the promise in Stiles' words. "I'll wash the sheets when you get back then," he breathed.

Stiles just winked at him in response and headed out. There was a noise of happy snuffling as Sally was led out to the backyard to go for her first (willing) accompanied flight in months. Stiles' laughter seemed to fill up the loft as he climbed on Sally's back and she flew up into the air over Beacon Hills. Derek listened until Stiles' joyous laughter was too faint to hear, and grinned as he opened his book again. It was good to have Stiles home.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	30. Foray

Word: Foray

...

"We shouldn't be here, Stiles. Derek's going to kill us for this," Scott hissed, ever the voice of reason.

"No, he's going to kill **me** for this. You can do your eye glow and growl thing at him and he'll back down for you. Don't worry, it'll be a quick foray; we'll just be straight in and out," Stiles added over his shoulder, opening the door and walking into the loft.

Scott winced but followed after him quickly. Someone had to save Stiles from himself.

"So what are we looking for anyway?" Scott hissed at Stiles.

"Dunno; I just know there's something in here that I want."

"Gee, that helps!"

"Don't do sarcasm, Scotty. That's my thing," Stiles said absent-mindedly, flicking through Derek's limited CD collection before moving over to the bookcase, his head tilted to read the spines better.

"I can't believe you dragged me out here to do this and you don't even know what you want. I'm leaving, dude, you can get your throat torn out on your own," Scott hissed.

"Fine, be that way. Say hi to Kira for me," Stiles called, waving him off.

Scott's eyes widened incredulously. If Stiles didn't care about him staying, then **fine.** Whatever consequences he faced would be on Stiles' own head, Scott decided, leaving the loft at a run.

Stiles hummed under his breath softly, making his way through the loft systematically, prying into things that were closed, opening doors, and rummaging through drawers.

The door opened and Stiles went still in the bathroom, glancing out of the doorway only to see Derek standing there looking aghast at the state of his apartment. Stiles winced and shut the bathroom door slowly, hoping it would take Derek a while to find him so he could figure out an escape plan. A low growl of annoyance filtered in from outside the bathroom door and Stiles held his breath as if he thought that would help.

"I know you're in there, Stiles. I recognise your heartbeat, you little shit. Now open the door," Derek growled.

"Or what, you'll huff and puff and blow it down?" Stiles called, trying not to grin too broadly at his own joke. (C'mon, that was totally funny.)

"Oh, I'll be blowing something, but it won't be you. You said you wouldn't touch the CDs," Derek whined.

Stiles opened the bathroom door with a glare. "You said you'd pick the girls up from school; Scott had to call me at work to come get them. Now stop breaking character."

Derek crowded into the bathroom before Stiles could close the door on him, pressing Stiles up against the sink.

"I already apologised for that, Stiles. You know I'm sorry about forgetting to pick them up," Derek murmured, sounding so utterly sad and miserable that Stiles' anger cracked.

"They were excited to have you pick them up; you rarely get the chance to do it anymore," Stiles said, sighing heavily.

"You think I wasn't excited too? I even had the Frozen soundtrack ready to go in the CD player," Derek said, making Stiles grin a bit. "I couldn't help that there was a fire, and if I'd remembered about the girls, I swear I would've called you or your Dad to pick them up. I'm really sorry, Stiles."

"Oh, fine, stop with the sad puppy eyes already. You're killing me here," he muttered, pulling Derek in for a firm kiss. "You'll be apologising to the Holly and Missy when we get them back tomorrow afternoon, and promising to pick them up at least three times next week, got it?"

Derek nodded firmly. "I'll set an alarm so I remember, even if there is an emergency," he added.

"Good idea. Now, since this roleplay's gone downhill, I think you should take me to our room and fuck me senseless."

"But the CDs..."

"Can wait until tomorrow," Stiles said, rolling his hips up against Derek's firmly.

"Yes, definitely. Tomorrow," Derek agreed quickly, holding Stiles up to kiss him properly.

Stiles grinned against his lips and wrapped his legs around Derek's waist, urging him to the bedroom as soon as possible.

Derek paid his penance multiple times over that night and, while Stiles would never admit it, probably for any future misdemeanours for the next three months as well.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	31. Ambulant

Word: Ambulant

...

"I don't care, all right? If I'm ambulant enough to walk through the hospital without help, then I can be doing the same thing out in the woods," Stiles hissed, trying to stamp down on his guilt at saying this to Melissa of all people.

"Don't even think that you're going to leave this hospital before you're ready, Stiles! You may think you are, but you're only able to walk due to the amount of pain killers I've pumped into you."

"Then give me a prescription and let me back out there! I can't leave them to die."

"No, Stiles. You'll just have to believe that they'll be fine, and trust them to come back in one piece, okay? You're not the only one that's waiting," she added, her jaw clenching slightly as she thought of her son being out there with a rogue Alpha on the loose.

"Yeah, I know. But I need to get back out there; the Alpha might be killing them," Stiles said, pleading and wishing she'd let him leave.

"I'm not that bad at fighting, am I?" Derek asked, grinning over at Stiles.

Stiles breath caught in his chest when he saw the red glow to Derek's eyes, and then his heart felt like it stopped completely when he saw the amount of blood on Derek's shirt.

"I'm all right; it's not mine," Derek promised, even as Stiles ran over, fingers clenched in his shirt and trying to find the wound.

"You're sure? 'Cause you know how long it takes for an Alpha wound to heal," Stiles replied, his voice choking up as he rested his head on Derek's shoulder.

"I know, Stiles. That Alpha will never hurt you again, I promise," Derek murmured, rubbing his back gently.

"I'll leave you two boys to it. I presume Scott's okay?" Melissa asked, her hand gentle on Derek's forearm.

"He went home with Kira to make sure she would be all right, but yes, he's fine," Derek said, not letting go of Stiles.

She thanked him with a smile and left the hospital room quietly, closing the door behind her.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek even tighter, burying his face against his shoulder. He said something, the words so soft and muffled that Derek couldn't hear it.

"What was that, Stiles?" Derek asked, rubbing soothing lines up and down his spine.

Stiles pulled away to look at him, and Derek was struck by the seriousness that was held in his gaze.

"Will you be my Alpha, Derek?" Stiles asked, voice firm and certain, his eyes flashing gold.

Derek felt a sense of relief at Stiles' question; it was one that he hadn't expected but had desperately wished for, even though he had never acknowledged that wish aloud. Derek had thought that Stiles would want Scott as his Alpha.

"Yes, I'll be your Alpha, Stiles," Derek replied, just as firm and certain as his brand new Beta.

I'll be anything you want me to be.

Stiles grinned, as if he heard the unspoken words as well, and bared his neck to his Alpha without a single moment of hesitation. Derek accepted his submission with bared fangs and red eyes, but his mouth was soft and reverent as he pressed a kiss to the already-healing wound on Stiles' neck.

The next morning, Melissa wasn't entirely surprised to find the room was empty, and Stiles and Derek were gone.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	32. Strident

Word: Strident

...

The door opened on strident hinges, Stiles wincing as the sound seemed to pierce his eardrums. Maybe this was a bad idea. Okay, objectively, Stiles knew that it was a bad idea, but he also hoped that it could end up as a good thing, which essentially made the bad idea a good one, right? Right. Still, he felt bad as he crept through the loft that he'd just broken into (that was a main part of the whole 'this is a bad idea' thing), even though the end totally justified the means. Besides, could it really be considered breaking in if the owner was out of town, and he had a key?

"Stiles? What are you doing?"

He froze at the familiar voice, turning around to come face to face with a sleepy and confused Derek. Stiles winced and set down his bags, trying not to look as guilty as he felt.

"Heeyyy, Derek! I didn't know you were back already. You should've text to let me know! Where'd you park your car?" he added, frowning.

"I got home at three this morning and parked around the back," Derek said, yawning and scratching his head. (Stiles' heart did not go all funny at the word home. It didn't. Really.) "Didn't think you'd appreciate a text at that time of the morning."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks. Go back to sleep, all right?" Stiles said, inching his way over to the door again; he could come back for the bags when Derek was asleep again.

So yeah, this was a bad idea then. A very bad idea, Stiles thought to himself. In fact, it could go in a contest for the dumbest idea to ever be conceived, and it would win every year from now until the end of time.

"What are you doing here?" Derek asked again, his brain seeming to catch up and realise that Stiles actually hadn't answered him.

If he'd caught on to that already, it wouldn't take long for him to notice the bags. Shit.

"I just came to check up on things while you were away," he said.

It was obvious that Derek caught his lie and wasn't impressed in the slightest.

"Right. And the bags?"

"Ugh, fine. I came to do something to surprise you, but you're here now and the surprise is ruined and it was a stupid idea anyway, so just forget about it," Stiles snapped, grabbing the bags forcefully and heading back over to the loft door.

Of course, with his bad plan and his current unlucky streak, one of the bags just **had** to break open before he could make his exit, the contents spilling out across the floor.

"Are those throw pillows?"

Stiles stopped at the loft door and let his forehead connect with it heavily. (That action could be a runner up in the bad idea contest, he thought, his head throbbing in pain.)

"Stiles, I'm running on about four hours of sleep here; can you just explain what's going on so I can go back to bed?" Derek asked, unintentionally making Stiles feel even worse because he just sounded exhausted.

Stiles turned around and slumped back against the door. He played with the hem of his shirt, not looking up at Derek. "It was meant to be a welcome home gift to surprise you; something to brighten the place up a bit. Not that the loft isn't great and all, but honestly, it's kinda like hugging a porcupine without the cute animal factor. Stupid idea, I know."

"A welcome home gift?" Derek echoed, sounding surprised. "I've been gone for three days, Stiles."

"I'm aware of that," Stiles muttered. "Like I said, it was a stupid idea. I'll go, you get some rest, 'kay?"

"Is your dad at work?"

Okay, out of everything Derek could have said, that was not a response Stiles would have expected. "Yeah, he is. Why?"

"That means your house is empty and probably quieter than it would be if I stayed here while you did your thing."

"What, really?" Stiles asked, brightening up.

"Yeah, the place could do with some colour. I'll be back by sunset. Try not to break anything," Derek added.

Stiles nodded so emphatically that he heard his neck crack. Derek went to leave, but Stiles grabbed his wrist before he could go.

"Where do you think you're going without even giving me a kiss hello or goodbye?" he asked, grinning cheekily.

Derek smirked and moved closer, backing Stiles up against the door. He leaned in, arms on either side of Stiles, his gaze flicking down to his lips just as Stiles licked them in anticipation. Derek made a small noise at that and then proceeded to kiss the fuck out of Stiles, tongue licking into his mouth, teeth biting at his bottom lip, hand tilting his jaw back, and his stubble rubbing against Stiles' chin harshly. Holy fuck, he had missed getting beard burn and it had only been three days.

"Better?" Derek asked as he pulled away, looking smug when Stiles just made an incoherent and dazed noise in response.

Derek pressed a chaste kiss to Stiles' lips and left him standing there, throw pillows scattered on the floor, as he tried to catch his breath.

"Love you too, sourwolf," Stiles muttered when he finally had his breath back a few minutes later. (He swore he heard Derek laugh.)

He hummed as he began picking up the throw pillows, taking them over to the couch before returning for the rest of the bags. Stiles had purchased a rug for the lounge area that he knew everyone would love simply because it felt fucking awesome to lay on (the store clerk had looked at him oddly but didn't comment). This was an awesome idea.

...

Derek parked in the Stilinski residence's driveway, glancing down at the key that was hanging off his keyring. Stiles had given it to him before he'd left, and it was now one of three keys he owned (one was for his car, the other for his loft, and four days ago, that's all that Derek thought he'd needed). It would be his first time using it today, and he was surprised to realise that he was nervous. It was ridiculous to feel that way, of course. He'd been inside Stiles' home plenty of times - and not just through the window - but going in with his own key just felt so much bigger. Still, he really was exhausted, and Derek's need to sleep outweighed everything else.

Heading over to the front door, he opened it and headed upstairs quickly. It was better to get it over and done with, just like ripping off a band-aid (or so he'd been told). Derek let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding after he stepped into Stiles' room. It was familiar territory, and everything smelled like Stiles, which soothed his frayed emotions.

Tired, Derek toed off his shoes and climbed into Stiles' bed, hugging Stiles' pillow to his chest and breathing in deeply. Across town, Stiles was making a home for them, and he couldn't help but feel happy that Stiles had decided to do this on his own. It wasn't quite a pack mother instinct, but it was close enough; the need to look after everyone and everything started in the home, after all. Smiling to himself, Derek let Stiles' scent wash over him as he drifted off to sleep.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	33. Zedonk

Word: Zedonk

...

"I want a zedonk."

The loud announcement through Stiles' tiny phone speaker isn't what has his jaw hanging open; it's the fact that Derek Hale has said this that's the shocker.

"Uh, say again, Der?" Stiles asks, just to be sure.

"I want a zedonk. It'd be cute and then kick people. I want an army of zedonks! Zedonkeys? No, that's not right."

"Derek? Is someone else with you? Scott, Isaac? Anyone at all?" Stiles asks, hoping that if there is, then the other person's coherent.

"Scott! Stiles wants to talk to you. Don't tell him about my zedonk army," Derek whispers loudly to Stiles then must hand the phone over to Scott.

"Hey, Stiles; what's up?"

"What's up?! I should be asking you that; what the fuck is going on with Derek?! Why does he sound like he's drunk?"

"Oh, right, that. Fairy dust works on werewolves, apparently. They've really made him loosen up. But he keeps talking about zedonks and I had to get a dictionary to find out what the hell he meant, and then he must've got the phone to call you."

"That's 'cause Stiles understands!" Derek yells in the background.

"Oh, god. Where are you? I'll be right there," Stiles says, already pulling a shoe on.

"Dude, you're not even in the U.S., let alone California," Scott reminds him.

"Been working on a teleportation spell; just tell me where you are," he mutters, wincing when Derek starts singing tunelessly in the background.

"Oh my god. He's doing the Macarena. We're at his loft. Get here as soon as you can," Scott says, sounding far too gleeful at Derek's humiliation.

Stiles sighs and hangs up the satellite phone, looking over at the cavern filled with books. He was meant to be in Ireland studying for his emissary training, but fairy dust could be unpredictable, and while Derek might be the cause for amusement now, it might not be that way later. Stiles sighed, wishing that Scott would sometimes think about the consequences of his actions, then concentrated on picturing Derek's loft and shifted.

"Whoa, you actually did it! Geez, think how much you'll save on airfares - ohhh," Scott winced, pulling away from Stiles as he vomited violently.

"Stiles?! That really you?" Derek asks, frowning over at him.

Hunched over as he was, with his breakfast on the floor, Stiles wasn't exactly able to reply. Derek made his way over anyway, wrinkling his nose at the smell, even as Scott rushed off to get a bucket and paper towels.

When he was cleaned up and all the Febreeze in the apartment was sprayed directly at that spot, Stiles took one look at Derek's glassy eyes, grabbed his forearm and led Derek straight to the bathroom, ignoring Scott's confused questions behind them.

"Where are you takin' me? Did you get me a zedonk?" Derek asks, eyes brightening.

"I'll get you a damn zedonk if you stop talking about them," Stiles mutters, rummaging through the medicine cabinet for the cough medicine that he knows is in there.

Derek seemed confused, not sure if he could thank Stiles for offering to get him a zedonk without mentioning the animal, and simply kept his mouth shut instead. Stiles found the bottle and the small medicine cup. He filled it to the brim, turned and offered it to Derek. He winced at the smell and shook his head adamantly.

"Derek, if you don't take this, you're going to end up with fairy dust poisoning, and you'll never see your precious zedonk, okay? Drink the stuff before I make you," Stiles adds, eyes glowing white.

Derek grabbed the small plastic cup and drank it all in one gulp, already looking green around the edges as he thrust the cup back at Stiles.

"Right, good boy. Now, on your knees, and keep your head as close to the toilet bowl as possible. It shouldn't take long to start working," Stiles mutters, turning Derek to face the toilet carefully.

Derek does as instructed, his stomach already churning. Less than a minute passes before he's throwing up, and Stiles hears Scott let out a whine from outside of the bathroom door.

"I've gotta go, Stiles. The smell. I'll... talk later," Scott groans, running out of the loft a second later.

Stiles sighs and rubs Derek's back gently as he throws up everything in his system. He just hopes he's not too late and the fairy dust hasn't gone into Derek's bloodstream yet; werewolf healing would make that shit re-spawn from now until the next full moon.

"You're doing great, big guy. Almost done, okay?"

The sickly purple colour of Derek's vomit changes to a clear colour, and Stiles breathes a sigh of relief, his hand resting between Derek's shoulder blades. Derek rests his head on the seat, looking pale and his chest heaving for breaths, but his eyes don't look as glazed.

"Feeling better?" Stiles asks, taking Derek's hand to feel his pulse.

"Yeah, a bit. Thank you," Derek breathes, closing his eyes for a moment.

He doesn't let go of Stiles' hand, not even when he brushes his teeth, and it's almost five minutes before they leave the cold bathroom hand in hand. (A spare bottle of Febreeze is used in the bathroom alone.)

Derek pulls Stiles to the lounge, hugs him close, and then makes him tell him everything about Ireland and his studies. They both know Stiles has to return soon, that he'll probably be in trouble for leaving the island without permission, but wrapped up in Derek's arms, Stiles can't bring himself to care. He doubts he'll care even when he's being reprimanded because he'll have this memory to help him get through the upcoming winter.

Three months after Stiles returns to Ireland, Derek receives a package in the mail. It's a plush toy of a zebra with big wide green eyes, and as he pulls it out of the cardboard box completely, he sees the brown colouring of his very own zedonk, and grins broadly.

No one dares tease Derek about the plush zedonk that sits proudly on his bed, not knowing how much he loves the damn thing, or how happy Stiles was to alter the zebra plush to look like an actual zedonk. (Besides, the one time that Peter mentioned the plush toy scathingly, his hair had fallen out and didn't grow back until he apologised profusely a week later.)

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	34. Beget

Word: Beget

...

"Derek! Get your lazy butt out of bed and help me down here!"

Stiles doubts that his yelling has even stirred Derek, especially since the noise from their two and four year old terrors hasn't woken him yet. Sighing, Stiles leaves the girls to their tantrums and stomps upstairs. He flings the bedroom door open, glaring in the general direction of the bed. The room is too dark for him to see anything, so he flicks the light switch, and then proceeds to glare at Derek even more. The noise of the tantrums filter into the room, and Derek sits up quickly, alert and thinking of danger. (Stiles feels a bit bad about that, but he's been dealing with the girls for the last three hours, and he knew that they shouldn't have soundproofed their room, dammit.)

"What's wrong?" Derek asks, eyes glowing blue and claws extended, the wolf ready to attack and defend his family and pack.

"Your daughters are attempting to redecorate the living room with crayons and their claws. I can't get either of them to settle; I swear my Dad's cursed them to be just like me when I was younger, and I don't know what I did to deserve this fresh hell," Stiles mutters, folding his arms over his chest.

"**My** daughters? I thought they were all yours?" Derek replies, grinning slightly as his wolf slips away.

He stretches, arms rising above his head, and Stiles forgets his retort as his husband's abs are revealed, his biceps flexing with the stretch, and he remembers placing several bites on that stomach just last night. Then a particularly loud screech comes from downstairs, and Stiles' glower returns in full force.

"They're yours when they're being little monsters," he mutters. "You beget the monsters; the smart-ass gene's mine."

"Right; I'll remember that the next time they try to swindle their way out of something. Or into it," Derek mutters, shaking his head and getting out of bed.

"Come on, before they destroy the couch again," Stiles says, grabbing Derek's hand and tugging him downstairs.

"Holly, Missy! Put the crayons down right now!" Derek demands, and the assbutt doesn't even have to wolf out on them for their daughters to do as he says immediately, their bottom lips wavering.

"We're drawing, Daddy!" Missy says, glancing over to the bright moon she's drawn on the wall, above the small forest Holly's depicted.

"We just wanted to bring the forest in here, 'cause you and Papa both like the full moon, and we only see it once a month," Holly adds, eyes wide as she looks up at them.

They both know they're being played, that Holly's most likely thought the entire argument through - Stiles is **definitely** the one to blame for that, Derek thinks to himself - and while they know that, it doesn't stop them falling for it. Stiles caves first, cursing himself and his inability to resist puppy eyes, and pulls Holly and Missy in for a hug.

"You're both cleaning the wall. Then we'll get some paper for you to draw on properly, okay?" Stiles suggests, both girls nodding against his chest.

"Okay, Papa," Holly says, sounding demure enough.

Derek sighs and kneels beside his family, pulling all three of them on to his lap. Stiles moves his head to kiss Derek, grinning when Holly squeals something about them being so gross.

"Yep!" Stiles admits happily, kissing Holly all over her face until she's squealing in laughter in his arms.

Missy squirms until Derek picks her up, tucking her under his arm as she giggles in delight. He grins and heads to the laundry to get a bucket of warm water, soap, and cleaning cloths.

They spend most of the morning cleaning the walls of Holly and Missy's handiwork, and go outside to empty the buckets in the backyard. Stiles and Holly have obviously been conspiring together while Derek's been singing along to the radio's cheesy 80's songs and making Missy laugh. The two traitors initiate a water fight by pouring a bucket of water on Derek's head. He's left there spluttering for half a minute before he chases after them with his own bucket, Missy toddling after them armed with a wet cloth and roaring.

Stiles just laughs when he's pounced on, and pulls Derek to the ground with Holly and Missy jumping on the pile a moment later. Derek noses against Stiles' neck, breathing in his scent, and Holly curls up against their entwined legs, Missy moving to squirm in between their arms. Stiles presses a kiss to the top of her head, and they all fall asleep on the grass, sun shining down on them and drying their wet clothes.

It's totally worth the grass rash Stiles gets on his legs afterwards.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	35. Gallinipper

Word: Gallinipper

...

"I'm dying, Derek! It's okay, just leave me here to die. Go on without me, and live a full and happy life."

"It's a mosquito bite, Stiles."

"Shut up; I could have malaria or something. Look at the size of this thing. I'm obviously allergic, and I'm going to die a slow and painful death."

"I'd be okay with that if it was a quiet, slow, and painful death."

"No such luck. This particular gallinipper brings out all of the painful and loudest screams from humans like myself. It's going to take hours for me to die; possibly even days! And you'll be right beside me listening to every word that passes my lips, won't you?"

"Like hell I will; I'm dumping your ass on the side of the road and getting out of town."

"Aww, I thought you loved me?"

"Loved, past tense. No present or future tense when you're being a dick."

Stiles snorts. "I thought you loved my dick too."

"Don't unzip your pants, Stiles!"

"Why not? I'm pretty sure semen helps cure the sting of a mosquito bite. Probably, at least... Eh, it can't hurt more than it already does."

"Oh god, you're serious, aren't you?"

"Well, you're not helping me, so yeah. Damn little bastard had to bite my wanking hand. Hold this for me?"

"Stiles! I'm trying to drive. Put your dick back in your pants before we get pulled over."

"We won't get pulled over; you're a very safe driver. C'mon, I trusted you to keep driving while I gave you a blow job last week."

"I almost crashed into a minivan, Stiles. We're not doing this."

"If you take a left here, we can be at Makeout Point in five minutes."

"It's a lookout; it's not called Makeout Point."

"It could be called Fuck Me Point if you turned down the road."

"Goddammit, Stiles."

"What're you doing?"

"Making a left turn."

"Oh, really?"

"Shut up."

"Okay, but you're going to have to suck the poison out of my hand before we do anything. That mosquito's probably out there laughing at my slow demise."

"You're a dork."

"You love me."

"Yeah, I do. Now will you put your dick away already?"

"Nope. Look at him; he's howling to the moon, just like you do!"

"Oh god, I've changed my mind. I hate you."

Stiles just laughs and proves him wrong.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	36. Transfigure

Word: Transfigure

(Teen Wolf x Harry Potter crossover. I couldn't resist!)

...

There was no way that Stiles could have missed the news, even though he was almost bound to the Prefect's carriage for most of the trip to Hogwarts. Derek Hale and his younger sister Cora had transferred from Beauxbatons to Hogwarts. Everyone knew who the Hales were, of course. The first out 'n proud werewolf family since Fenir Greyback's death in the Final War, and since Remus Lupin had been awarded an Order of Merlin by Harry Potter himself.

Of course, just because a war had been won, it didn't mean that old bigotries didn't exist, and the Argent family were French purebloods to the extreme. (The Black family were most likely the Argent's closest British equivalent, and it didn't surprise Stiles in the slightest to discover that the Black and Argent lines had crossed several times over the years; Black and Silver, how could they resist?) Kate Argent had taken it upon herself to 'rid the earth of that werewolf scum' (her words, quoted in big bold print on every major tabloid and newspaper throughout the wizarding world) and had set the Hale house alight. It hadn't worked - Mr. Hale was a wizard and a stronger one than Kate ever would be; he knew exactly how to extinguish the spreading fire, and while it was claimed that Peter Hale swore revenge on the Argent bitch (again, quoting here; Stiles would never limit his swearing to something so Muggle), no one was harmed. Still, it had been decided that Derek and Cora should switch schools in case others in France tried to accomplish what Kate hadn't.

"Stiles, where are your robes?" Lydia asked, eyebrow raised and arms folded across her chest.

He frowned, patting his chest in a dramatic manner. "Could've sworn I had them around here somewhere. Ah!" he exclaimed, pulling a thread from his sleeve.

The thread grew bigger and bigger, until it was a complete swatch of material, only to reveal his Ravenclaw robes when Stiles had pulled it out of his sleeve completely. Lydia didn't look impressed.

"Oh, come on, Lyds! I worked on that trick all summer; not even a smile?"

One side of her mouth twitched, and Stiles grinned broadly, counting it as a complete success.

"Now that the entertainment for the day is over, let's get down to business," Lydia said, looking around the carriage at the rest of the fifth, sixth, and seventh year Prefects.

Despite the fact that Lydia was in her sixth year (along with Stiles, Scott, and Kira), the seventh years had obviously decided to let her handle everything anyway. The Head Boy and Girl actually looked a little overwhelmed, Stiles noted, and couldn't help but grin as Lydia took control of the situation. She deferred to her elders when required, but apart from getting them to tell the others the rules and what the consequences would be for breaking said rules or abusing their power as Prefects, Lydia ruled the meeting with an iron fist.

Stiles tried not to laugh when a seventh year boy looked at her in a mix of terror and admiration after she opened the door without her wand or a word said. The boy was going to be in for a shock when he found out that Lydia was dating Jackson, a Slytherin (and the douchiest Slytherin to ever douche, in Stiles' opinion), a pureblood, and Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team.

Apart from idle chatter and speculation about the Hales, the train trip was kind of boring for Stiles, especially without Scott beside him as was the norm. But then, since Kira and Scott had apparently gotten together over the summer break, Stiles was kind of glad to not be the third wheel in that disgustingly cute relationship. Gryffindors, the both of them, and Stiles just knew that the first Hogsmeade weekend would probably involve Madam Pudifoots. He shuddered at the thought. Then the trolley lady came in, and Stiles knew that he had at least six Sickles to spend on making himself sick with junk food. He pushed all other thought out of his head and concentrated very seriously on his selection of Chocolate Frogs and Fizzing Whizzbees.

...

It isn't until the Sorting Ceremony that Stiles remembers the Hales, and it's not his fault that he ate so many Fizzing Whizzbees that Lydia had to get him off the train carriage roof, and everyone knows that crashing after Fizzing Whizzbees is an ultimate downer that makes you want to crawl under a table for hours. (Which he can't do, so Stiles had to settle with keeping his head on the table instead. At least Scott had been somewhat sympathetic on his way over to the Gryffindor table, his fingers laced with Kira's and both of them smiling goofily.)

"Hale, Cora," Flitwick called.

Usually Flitwick's voice was enough to make Stiles smile, but seriously, extreme sugar crash here.

"Gryffindor!"

The applause made Stiles groan; didn't these people respect their elders who were in a lot of pain?!

"Hale, Derek," Flitwick called.

Okay, Stiles was curious enough to look up to see the older Hale, and the moment he did, his jaw kind of dropped. Derek was, without a doubt, gorgeous. Thick dark hair, green eyes that were probably bewitched because they weren't just green, and a jawline that Stiles immediately had a desire to bite. What sort of seventh year had stubble?! Sure, it wasn't a lot, but Merlin's baggy y-fronts, it suited Derek just fine. Stiles just hoped that Derek couldn't hear his stuttering heartbeat over the noise of the rest of the student population.

"Hufflepuff!"

The scowl on Derek's face could probably be seen in outer space by those Muggle satellites, but he went over to the Hufflepuff table without a word, the applause smattering and not as deafening as Cora's had been. Stiles amped up his applause a bit to make him feel better, even though it made Lydia look at him oddly. He pretended to ignore her and rested his head on the table again until the final student had been called, and the usual welcoming feast appeared.

"I'm going to regret helping you study to become Prefect, aren't I?" she asked with a sigh.

"Probably. Should've thought of that before, Lyds!" Stiles said with a grin. "Ooh, pumpkin tart. Pass the chicken?"

Lydia rolled her eyes, but placed a piece of chicken on his offered plate anyway. Stiles grinned and turned his attention back to his food. Food was always a good idea.

(An hour and a half later, his stomach bulging and his legs feeling weighed down by the amount of food he had consumed, Stiles didn't even have the energy to disagree with himself. Food was **not** always a good idea.)

...

The year started off quietly enough, and the Hales slipped into anonymity as the weeks passed. It was only Stiles actively searching out the dark hair and green-blue-gold eyes that he really saw Derek Hale in the castle. He always looked out for him and Cora the day after a full moon, and while they seemed pale and haggard, they were both being taken care of by Remus Lupin and his wife, Tonks. Neville Longbottom, the Herbology Professor, seemed to have a knack for potions and helped with a potion to moderate the after-effects of being a werewolf. Neither Derek nor Cora resisted their wolf, as Remus once had, and they seemed better for it. Not that Stiles was an expert of course. But, by the amount of werewolf-related books he came across in the library, Stiles would probably know more about them than the Hales by the next full moon.

Stiles was smart in his own right. Lydia could claim smartest witch of their age, but Stiles was pretty sure he'd get smartest wizard of their age (even though some of the professors might not like it, since he could be a prankster like Fred and George Weasley before him, or the Marauders before them, much to the professor's chagrin. Stiles also had a way of convincing Scott to join him on their adventures, and Kira had been surprisingly easy to convince; Stiles suspected she enjoyed breaking the rules more than he did). Sometimes, his smarts got him in trouble: the final practical question of his Transfiguration O.W.L.s. had required a Vanishing Spell, and Stiles had accidentally vanished not only the lizard, but the table, and his chair as well. He passed with flying colours and a reprimand. Other times, his smarts had him tutoring other students. It was usually at a teacher's request, and only as a last resort because Stiles' method of teaching was rather practical (apparently, not everyone responded well to Stiles running after them and trying to blast his way through a barely erected deflecting shield with his wand; the kid passed, so Stiles still isn't sure what the fuss was about).

Stiles was called to Professor McGonagall's Headmaster's office the morning of a Hogsmeade weekend, and while she seemed somewhat amused at his choice of attire (he'd charmed the fox on his shirt to run around and yap, though silently for now, since he had yet to work out how to give it a voice), McGonagall informed him that he may have to cut his trip to Hogsmeade short this weekend. It seemed that Stiles' unique tutoring style was required for Derek Hale. Derek was having difficulty with some of the more basic seventh year Transfiguration spells, and without Stiles' help, Derek may not be able to pass his N.E.W.T. exam and achieve his dream to become an Auror. Stiles, who's father was an Auror, had the exact same dream, and ol' McG sure knew how to press his buttons.

"All right, I'll help him. Where is he?"

"Mr. Hale is in the Transfiguration classroom waiting for you. Thank you for offering to do this, Mr. Stilinski," she added with a brief smile.

He finished off his biscuit and nodded in return, standing and wiping his hands on his pants as he turned to leave.

"And Mr. Stilinski? Try to understand that Derek is still in an unfamiliar place with none of his usual friends or securities. His sister is somewhat more outgoing than Mr. Hale - " that was an understatement; Stiles had heard about her throwing Dungbombs at the Astronomy Tower and interrupting the would-be-lovers with the foul stench as she cackled in delight at the foot of the stairs below " - and he does not have the same ability as Miss Hale to make friends."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall. I'll be on my best behaviour."

"Thank you. And while you're being so obliging, perhaps you could have a quiet word to Mr. Greenberg about his Quidditch game commentary?"

Stiles snorted at that; Greenberg and McGonagall's ongoing rivalry over what was appropriate commentary for the school Quidditch games was legendary.

"I'm not sure it'd do much good, Professor McGonagall. Not without questionable personality altering charms," he added with a grin.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow and shook her head. Stiles took that as his dismissal and headed to the Transfiguration classroom with a whistle. Stiles found that he actually didn't mind missing out on Hogsmeade; he'd already stocked up on Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes a fortnight ago, and the owners of Honeydukes were probably cackling in glee with the amount he'd spent just last week alone. Besides, Scott and Kira were on a double-date with Lydia and Jackson, and Stiles had no wish to be the fifth wheel on that awkward and terrifying date. (Lydia and Kira were actually really good friends, and while Jackson and Scott were never going to be best buddies, they no longer tried to hex each other on sight.)

"... don't care; I hate it here. I just want to go back home."

Stiles stopped at the door with a wince, doubting he should be hearing Derek's conversation, one-sided though it was. He knocked on the door firmly and waited.

"Yeah?" Derek called.

Breathing a small sigh of relief that he hadn't been left standing out in the corridor like an idiot, Stiles opened the door and walked inside.

"Hey. Professor McGonagall said you needed help with Transfiguration?"

Derek frowned at him, as if he'd been expecting something ... well, more than what Stiles was.

"You're going to help me with Transfiguration? What are you, a fourth year?"

"F-fourth year?" Stiles choked. "I'm a sixth year, thank you very much! And if you want my help, then you'd better be a little nicer!"

Derek's eyebrows burrowed together as he scowled at Stiles.

"Yeah, my tutoring, my rules. Like it or leave it, big guy; I do have other things to do," Stiles muttered.

Derek's expression faltered, and he looked a little ashamed all of a sudden, which in turn made Stiles feel like crap.

"Sorry. You've probably got a date or something at Hogsmeade. You should go; I'll owl you later."

"No. Uh, sorry... I've got no... I mean, there's no... Look, let's just start over, okay?" Stiles suggested with a big sigh. "Hi, I'm Stiles Stilinski, and I'll be your tutor for Transfiguration."

"Derek. Hale," Derek added, holding out his hand for Stiles to shake.

Stiles grinned and shook his hand. "Great to meet you, Derek. Now, let's just see where you're up to, and we'll work from there. Can you do a Switching spell?" Stiles asked.

Derek scowled again and shook his head briefly. "The magic taught at Beauxbatons is different than the ones here. I can conjure up an entire dinner setting, but switching it to something else isn't considered practical. Why bother when it's just as easy to make it from the start, without having to worry about the other item's properties?" Derek muttered, his scowl still firmly in place.

"Your scowl is seriously impressive. I don't think I've ever seen a Hufflepuff scowl like that before. Way to throw off the stereotypes there, Derek," Stiles said, grinning broadly. His expression fell when Derek didn't seem impressed, and he coughed slightly. "You could be right about that, but by switching an item, you're actually using less energy. You don't have to destroy or vanish the old one, you're simply reshaping it into the new thing you want. Bring up that dinner setting for me, and I'll show you what I mean."

Derek didn't even blink, and then there in the middle of the classroom was a twelve-piece dinner setting, complete with three-course crockery and cutlery, a tablecloth and silver runner, and even padded chairs.

"Merlin's beard! Can you do that again?!" Stiles asked excitedly, vanishing the setting.

Derek seemed surprised at his excitement, but nodded, and again, the twelve-piece appeared. Stiles took a chance, pulling out a chair and sitting on it promptly.

"I think I'm in love with this chair. The wooden planks in the Great Hall are unforgiving on my poor butt. We should have these chairs instead," Stiles murmured happily, wiggling his butt on the chair.

Derek made a sort of choking sound, and Stiles looked over at him, flushing and getting off the chair quickly.

"Uh, sorry about that... Okay. Now, let's say you've lost a guest, but need more napkins 'cause Aunt Susan's a messy eater or something, right? Instead of vanishing the setting and redoing it for eleven people, you just switch one of the settings for a stack of napkins... And strategically place them next to Aunt Susan's seat," Stiles muttered, doing the switch spell to demonstrate.

Derek kind of smiled at Stiles' large stack of napkins, so it wasn't a total loss. Over the next few hours, Stiles figured out that Derek had a basic knowledge of Transfiguration, but he was powerful with it. (He completed a hundred-piece setting at Stiles' insistence, though the plates were all different colours.) He worked much better with practical applications of the spells, and liked being told why rather than just the how. While Stiles couldn't exactly explain every spell (he had no idea why someone would turn a poor hedgehog into a pin cushion; just buy a pin cushion! It was half a Knut on Diagon Alley, for Merlin's sake), he certainly tried his best.

It wasn't until his stomach started making grumbling noises (he thought he'd accidentally figured out how to give his fox a voice at first), that Stiles realised they hadn't stopped for lunch. He felt comfortable enough with Derek by then to grab his hand and pull him down to the kitchen for lunch.

By the end of that month, it felt like they were best friends. Stiles spent time with Derek outside of his tutoring, trying his hardest to make the stoic boy laugh or smile (he rarely succeeded, but when he did, Stiles' stomach did flip flops); Derek waited for Stiles outside of his classroom when they went to study in the library; Stiles made sure that he always had an apple or two in his bag because Derek got hungry between meals and would try to drag him to the kitchen rather than study; and when he finally cajoled Stiles into going to the kitchen with him, Derek made sure the house elves prepared Stiles' hot chocolate just the way he liked it.

...

Things were going great, and it continued to be that way for the next few months, long after Derek caught up to (and started to surpass) the rest of his class. Then Stiles got asked on a date. Heather was a Ravenclaw who'd been acquaintance-more-than-a-friend with Stiles since their first year, and while he'd never really noticed her as more than a Housemate, she must have noticed him.

Heather asked him to go to Hogsmeade with her, and Stiles was surprised to find that his first thought wasn't 'yes, yes, yes!' as he thought it would've been. Instead, he thought about Derek, and how they had plans to go to the Shrieking Shack that weekend because the full moon was coming up and the wooden shack was sadly bereft of things that could help Derek calm his wolf down. They'd put together a little care package with blankets and his favourite pillow, and while Stiles didn't like the chances of the pillow surviving, he'd still shoved it in the box for Derek anyway.

Apparently, Stiles had taken too long to answer, because Heather made a small noise of disbelief and turned to go up to the girls' dormitories, one of her friends glaring at him before following after her. Stiles was kind of pissed at himself too, but stupidly, he took his anger out on Derek that night at their study session.

"I got out asked out on a date today," Stiles admitted soon after Derek arrived.

Derek stopped short as the door closed behind him, and stared at Stiles. "Oh. Who are you going to Hogsmeade with?" he asked tightly, his fists clenched by his sides.

"No one. I got so caught up in thinking about you, and the plans we'd made this weekend that Heather thought I was rejecting her, and she left! I think I made her cry... Do you know how long I've waited for anyone to see me as more than a friend?" Stiles asked, almost hysterically. "I've been waiting a very, very long time! Coming into manhood early is not a good thing when there's no one to share it with! I've been hitting it off by myself for a good six years, Derek, and I just blew the one chance I'll probably ever have because everything in my life is about you! I'm going to die alone, and it's all your fault!"

"What?" Derek frowned, obviously confused.

Stiles couldn't bring himself to explain that he was spending way too much time thinking about Derek in a not-the-way-friends-think-of-each-other kind of way. Like Derek's hands, his shoulders, his lips, his smile that made Stiles crazy, the laugh that made him want to kiss Derek, the way he'd look sad and lonely sometimes and Stiles just wanted to hug him for hours until he smiled again, the way he would pretend to be all rough and gruff around others, but the minute a kid was crying, Derek would be right there beside them with a hanky and chocolate. He wanted Derek to go on dates with him (he'd even thought about going to Madam Pudifoot's, and that's when Stiles knew he was totally gone), he wanted to kiss Derek, to tickle him, to cuddle with him, have sex with him (dear Merlin, he'd thought about that for hours, only stopping when he realised that the scent of his desire and lust had probably permeated through the entire freaking castle and that was embarrassing). Stiles wanted to do everything with Derek, even argue with him over the most basic things, and he didn't want to admit it aloud, but that was the real reason he hadn't answered Heather. Admitting something as epically fucked up as this would ruin his perfectly good friendship with Derek, and he didn't want that at all. While Stiles did have Scott, Kira, and Lydia, he still didn't have many people he could call friends. He didn't want to lose Derek over something like this.

"Oh, never mind; you wouldn't understand," Stiles snarled at him, somehow actually pushing past Derek and leaving the room before he could answer.

Stiles went straight to Ravenclaw Tower to wallow in misery and the kilo of Choc Peanut Butter Buttery Sticks he'd bought from Honeydukes.

...

"Look, Stiles. I understand that you're heart-broken for whatever reason, and you've probably eaten your solid weight in Honeydukes products, but you are still a Prefect, and you have your duties. You are meant to be patrolling tonight, so either you get dressed and get out there, or I **will** throw you out there in your pyjamas and change the tower password."

"I hate you," Stiles groaned from under his blanket.

He'd been too depressed to eat in his room because he had his fox shirt hanging over his chair and it reminded him of Derek so badly that he couldn't stay there any longer, so he'd tugged his blanket off his bed and dragged it down to the Common Room to wallow instead.

"No, you don't. Now, get up and put your robe on. Give me the box of chocolates. Now, Stiles!" Lydia demanded, scattering the few braver Ravenclaws who'd stayed to witness his wallowing.

Muttering under his breath, Stiles handed the box over to her and pulled his robe on forcefully.

"There, happy?"

"Get out of here, Stilinski, or so help me, I will owl your father."

"You wouldn't dare," Stiles said, but made his way to the exit anyway.

Lydia was the kind of witch to follow through on her threats, after all.

...

Stiles was halfway through his patrol (he was waiting at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower, hoping to take out some of his emotion on the hapless teens who'd come to neck) when he got hit by a Howler. Literally.

Cursing to himself, Stiles grabbed the bright red envelope out of the air and ran to the closest prefect's bathroom, hoping for an ounce of privacy. He had no idea who'd be angry enough with him to send him a Howler; Lydia knew that he was patrolling, right?!

"STILES, I DON'T CARE WHO YOU THINK YOU ARE! HOW DARE YOU BREAK DEREK'S HEART LIKE THAT! IF I WERE THERE, YOU WOULD BE DEAD, YOU HEAR ME?! Shut up, Boyd, he doesn't know that! I'D WRAP MY HANDS AROUND YOUR SCRAWNY LITTLE NECK AND SQUEEZE SO TIGHT YOUR HEAD WOULD POP OFF! DEREK'S DONE NOTHING BUT TALK ABOUT YOU SINCE YOU STARTED TUTORING HIM, AND THEN YOU GO AND DO THIS TO HIM! HE'S BEEN IN LOVE WITH YOU FOR MONTHS, YOU FUCKING IDIOT, AND YOU JUST GO AND KICK HIM IN THE GUTS WHILE HE'S ALREADY DOWN?! YOU MARCH YOUR ASS DOWN TO THE HUFFLEPUFF COMMON ROOM AND FIND HIM! THIS INSTANT!"

The Howler didn't seem to be finished yet - maybe this terrifying girl was just taking a breather and drinking some water? - and Stiles stood there staring at it with wide eyes.

"Uh, by the way, this is Erica, Derek's best friend from Beauxbatons. And Boyd. Say hi, Boyd. Ugh, fine, don't then. Boyd's here, trust me on that. And he's just as pissed off as I am. Well, almost. Stop shaking your head, damn it, Boyd! Anyway, you're both idiots for taking so long to get anywhere with this. Now can you just go profess your undying love for Derek so he can stop howling in misery already?!"

Stiles started running out of the prefect's bathroom before the Howler finished burning up into a pile of ash.

Thanks to his status as a Prefect, Stiles knew just which barrel to tap in order to gain access to the Hufflepuff Common Room. Despite that, he still spent a few minutes trying to find out where the student dormitories were, getting repelled out of the girls' one twice before he realised there was another door.

He found the seventh year's room easily enough (they were all labelled, just like Ravenclaw and Gryffindor), and Stiles tried to keep quiet as he slipped inside. Derek's bed had the curtains closed firmly, and Stiles felt awful all over again. He was careful not to wake up Derek's roommates as he made his way over to Derek's bed. Stiles was pretty sure that Derek must've heard him coming, and was proven right when his curtains opened a moment later, Derek snarling at him softly.

Despite the low light in the room, Stiles could see the tears in Derek's eyes. He moved forward without thinking (thankfully, Derek didn't stop him), and Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek tightly.

"I'm so sorry, Derek. I'm an idiot and you deserve better than me," Stiles murmured softly so as to not disturb the others, but loud enough for Derek to hear. "I didn't mean to hurt you; I just really didn't think you'd ever like me the way I liked you, and I took that out on you. By all rights, you have every reason to hate me."

Derek was silent for a moment, Stiles' heart hammering in his chest, but then he nuzzled his face against Stiles' stomach before turning his head up to look at him.

"I could never hate you, Stiles," he said, smiling gently.

Stiles breathed a sigh of relief and kissed Derek. He gasped slightly as Derek pulled him onto the bed, closing the curtains around them. Derek gave a quick grin, as brilliant as the gold flash of his eyes, and tugged on Stiles' robes until he was lying on top of his chest firmly.

"Sleep now, we'll talk more in the morning," Derek murmured, yawning.

Curling a fist in Derek's shirt, Stiles closed his eyes and fell asleep in Derek's warm embrace.

...

In the morning, they'd talk and apologise again, until they started kissing more than they spoke. They'd go to Hogsmeade together (not Madam Putifoot's, thank you very much) and Stiles avoided Honeydukes for a good two hours, much to Derek's confusion.

A few months later, Stiles would meet not only the rest of the Hales at Derek's graduation, but Erica and Boyd too. He would be somewhat terrified until Erica got a piggyback ride from Boyd, laughing as he took her around the Great Hall; and only relaxing after Mrs. Hale hugged Stiles within an inch of his life, Laura and the rest of their family laughing behind them.

A year later (which included a few more arguments, a lot more kissing, full moons, misunderstandings, communication issues, and a lot of owling back and forth), Stiles graduated from Hogwarts as well, and his father was finally able to meet Derek and the rest of the Hales in person (they came to support Stiles, and if John Stilinski had never heard a thing about them before then, he knew that he would have liked them just for that anyway).

Stiles joined Derek in the Ministry as an Auror, Kira joining them after a few months of deliberation. Scott apprenticed under Hagrid to be the next Care of Magical Creatures Professor. Lydia couldn't talk about her job, but Stiles knew that it was within the Department of Mysteries, and he was somewhat terrified to think of what would be coming out of that department in the upcoming years. Jackson got into the political side of the Ministry, intent on running for Minister one day (Stiles and Derek both believed that Lydia had a hand in that).

Absolutely no one was surprised when Stiles proposed to Derek a few years later (in the middle of a job, of course), though Minerva McGonagall was surprised to receive an invitation to their wedding, along with a note of sincere thanks from the two grooms-to-be.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	37. Flak

Word: Flak

...

"You'd better keep running, Derek! You've only done thirteen laps so far, and you promised me twenty! Now work those legs!"

"Yes, Alpha," Derek ground out, glowering over at his Alpha (while he was out of sight; he wasn't stupid).

"Good. And don't think I didn't feel that glare," Stiles called with a smirk.

"How's he do that?" Scott muttered beside Derek, both Betas evenly matched as they sprinted along the forest trail.

Derek honestly had no idea and just shrugged in response. On the other side of Scott, Isaac seemed to seriously contemplate the question.

"Maybe Alpha's have eyes in the back of their heads?" he suggested.

"Really, boys? Eyes in the back of his head? Have you seen Stiles' head?" Erica pointed out, rolling her eyes at them and putting on an extra burst of speed to get passed them and catch up to Boyd.

As if in silent agreement, the three men decided to speed up as well, and they all started running faster.

"It's not a race, guys! It's to test your endurance and stamina; keep it steady!" Stiles called.

"Yes, Alpha!" they chorused, obligingly slowing down, though a small amount.

"Scott, Isaac, you're done for the day," Stiles called on the next lap.

Boyd and Erica's car was no longer there, so they must have finished as well. Isaac and Scott gave Derek a brief look of sympathy, but still left him to do his final five laps. He didn't mind running on his own, it helped him clear his head. For the final lap, Stiles took a place beside him, running at his slower pace easily. They finished in silence, and Derek took a minute to breathe deeply before straightening to provide Stiles with his report for the day.

"I don't want to deal with your flak today, all right, Derek? Just save it up for tomorrow, and you can hit me with a double whammy then. Deal?"

"Yes, Alpha. Is... is everything all right?"

"Yeah, fine. A guy deserves a break on his birthday, right?" Stiles joked, grinning a broad and over-the-top fake grin.

Derek faltered slightly; he hadn't realised that it was Stiles' birthday. It was the first one since Stiles' father had been killed by a rogue Alpha; as such, it was almost a full year since Stiles had hunted the Alpha across California to Beacon Hills and killed it, leeching its power for his own. He wasn't a wolf, not exactly, but he was no longer human either. Yet, he had proved that he still had all the abilities an Alpha did, including the ability to turn people into werewolves. He'd turned a few teenagers from the local high school with their permission, of course, and Derek found himself drawn to the red-eyed young man that burned.

Stiles had decided to stay, even enrolling in the school to stay with the majority of his pack. Despite being in town for a year, no one had any idea of what he was; if they did, they kept it to themselves. It was of little consequence anyway, because everyone that came before Stiles - whether to pledge allegiance or to challenge him - soon found themselves submitting to him instead. (An entire pack of Alphas had been subdued in this way and sent on their way. Derek was glad when they were gone; someone could have died if they'd had to fight them.)

Hesitantly, Derek reached out and grabbed Stiles' forearm gently. Stiles was distracted by the zipper on his duffel bag and didn't see him move. They both knew that Stiles didn't like to be touched, and despite it just being the two of them, now was apparently no exception. Stiles' eyes filled with the Alpha red glow as he hissed and snatched his arm away.

"What the fuck, Derek?!"

"Sorry, Alpha," he said, contrite and immediately looking down at his feet, away from his Alpha's red eyes. "I want to take you out for dinner; it's your birthday."

"You don't have to do that, Derek," Stiles muttered, turning away and heading to his Jeep, duffel bag finally zipped and slung over his shoulder.

"Yes, I do. Please, Alpha."

Stiles sighed softly, the warm rush of air barely audible even to Derek, but he turned to face Derek again, and nodded briefly.

"Fine; let's order Chinese on the way home, we'll stop off and buy a cake - no candles - and then we'll marathon Star Wars. Sound good?"

"It sounds perfect, Alpha," Derek said with a smile.

He moved forward slowly and making his intent clear, Stiles still a bit shocked from his earlier touch. When Stiles gave a minute nod, Derek smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his Alpha's mouth. Stiles was slow in responding to his kiss, but when he did, Derek's toes curled against the forest floor. He relaxed into Stiles' touch, his Alpha's fingers firm on his shoulders.

His Alpha had helped him get revenge on the Argent family, and there was nothing Derek wouldn't do for Stiles, Alpha or not. It seemed that Stiles was the only one that didn't believe that, no matter how many times Derek tried to tell him otherwise. Tonight, Derek hoped that he could show Stiles what he meant to him instead.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	38. Epithalamion

Word: Epithalamion

...

"Derekkkkk!"

The slurred voice is far too familiar for Derek's liking at three in the damn morning, but the owner of said slurred voice doesn't seem to be concerned with Derek's 'you'd better be dead or you will be soon' expression. In fact, Stiles just grins at him a little goofily and sidles past him into the loft.

"We're gonna get married; I've told Scott, and that means it's gotta happen now. That's the way it works, y'know. Tell Scott something, and it happens. For real, every time."

Derek's dealt with Stiles' drunken ass over the years enough times to be able to translate that mess of slurring speech into something coherent at least. It's the first time in a long time that he's seen Stiles this plastered though, Derek can admit that. He sighs and goes to his bedroom to get his phone; Scott should've been with Stiles tonight.

"Hey, Derek. I want... I wanna have sex! With your dick," Stiles clarifies loudly. "Like, forever. Except not at the wedding. Or the reception. That'd be weird. And we'd miss Scott's epi-epithalamion. He promised he'd sing, and we even started writing the song. Wanna hear?"

"Stiles, no. You can't sing, don't even try," Derek groans, wishing that Scott would pick up his damn phone already. "Scott, where the fuck are you? Stiles is here as drunk as a skunk, and you were meant to be looking after him tonight, you jerk." He ends the voicemail on a sigh and hangs up.

"Derek! I'm thinking about sex again. When we get married, you'll make sure I don't think about sex, won't you?"

Derek figures it's probably better to humour Stiles while he's like this. Besides, he has no desire to deal with a drunk and crying Stiles again - it dehydrates him even worse than usual, and Derek knows Stiles will be as grumpy as all hell if he wakes up like that again.

"Come on, Stiles. Let's get you some water and juice, then get you in bed, okay?"

"For the sex?"

"Yes, Stiles, for the sex," he lies.

He knows that Stiles will be asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, so Derek doesn't feel too bad about lying. He manages to get a glass of water and two orange juices in Stiles before leading him to bed. Stiles decides that being drunk and talking dirty is a good idea, and Derek is hard as a rock by the time they make it to his bedroom. Fucking hell; Stiles might fall asleep, but now Derek's going to be awake picturing what he detailed, and this is not how he wanted to spend his night, fuck it all.

Stiles kisses Derek in a way that feels purely obscene, and he wonders where the hell he learnt that tongue move, even as his knees go weak at the action. Then, as predicted, after Stiles throws his jacket to the corner of the room and gets on the mattress, he falls right asleep. Derek groans and adjusts his sweatpants, telling himself very sternly that he's going to hell for taking advantage of a drunk Stiles. He settles in beside Stiles, wrapping an arm around his waist to make sure he won't flail off the bed, and tries to will himself to sleep (and his erection to go down. Pressing up against Stiles probably isn't the best way to achieve this, but he can't bring himself to move away).

...

In the morning, Derek wakes up to a high-pitched scream, and Stiles clambering over his body to get out of the bed. Derek groans tiredly, sitting up (his hair sticking up in various directions), and goes to look over at Stiles.

"Ah, **no!** No looking at me! I'm all gross and icky. Besides, it's bad luck," Stiles added with a pout.

"Pretty sure that's restricted to brides only, Stiles. And if you'll recall, it's not the first time I've seen you all gross and icky," Derek deadpans, a grin almost on his lips.

"That's not the point," Stiles mutters, patting his pockets and rummaging in his jacket for his phone. "Where the hell was Scott? He was meant to be looking after me. I told him not to let me leave the bar, damn it."

"So, I'll take it you had fun at your bachelor party then?" Derek asks, smirking.

"Yeah. Ginger and Candy showed me this tongue thing that made me all weak just watching them. I'll do it later... Ohh, I already did it, didn't I? God damn it, past me, that was meant to be for sexy times," Stiles mutters.

"It would've been sexy times if you'd stayed conscious," Derek mutters in return, a bit too loud, and Stiles' expression falls completely.

"You mean I fell asleep on sexy times too? Oh, god. I'm officially the worst fiancé ever. Why are you marrying me?"

"We don't have enough time for me to list all of the reasons, Stiles. Let's just stick with the fact that I love you - " Stiles goes heart eyes here, and Derek ridiculously falls in love with him all over again " - and if you don't get to Lydia's in the next hour, she will hunt you down."

Stiles looks at the clock beside the bed, wincing as he pulls his jacket on. "Fuck. Who's bright idea was it to have my bachelor party the night before our wedding?" Stiles groans.

"Should've made it a week like I did," Derek counters, grinning.

He gets out of bed and kisses Stiles firmly. Derek even does the tongue thing just to hear what kind of noise Stiles will make (he has all of Stiles' noises catalogued, and knows that anything nearing breathlessness or a whimper is decidedly good); he's not prepared for the pure orgasmic sound he makes.

Fuck it, Derek decides, Stiles is just going to have to be late for their wedding preparations, even if Lydia will probably kill them both tomorrow.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	39. Droke

Word: Droke

- Canadian (chiefly Atlantic Provinces and Northwest Territories): a valley with steeply sloping sides.

...

It's not like Derek actively tried to forget about the place in Nova Scotia, but a lot of things had happened since his last winter holiday as a child there - mainly the fire, then New York, and everything in Beacon Hills. He was too busy trying to survive or save the others that it completely slipped his mind, even though Laura had mentioned it to him back in New York before she'd left for Beacon Hills. She'd brought it up as a way to make him remember the good times their family had had. Back then, all he'd felt was guilt, that he'd taken those good times away from them all. Now, after many years and various therapy sessions, Derek finally let himself believe that it wasn't his fault, that Kate had done this awful thing to his family, and he was not the one to blame.

It wasn't until after the nogitsune had been defeated that Derek thought of Canada again, a cold breeze with snow in the air that reminded him of the winter holidays. If he let himself concentrate on it, Derek could even vaguely remember being in Halifax with his family without an ache in his chest. The Hale family had holidayed there every winter, their cabin built in the droke of a secluded valley. Derek grinned slightly at the memory of learning to ski, Laura gliding past and laughing when he fell on his ass, and the expansive wilderness areas that he could run around in without worrying about tourists or trails.

A week the nogitsune had been defeated, Stiles turned up to Derek's loft, shivering and freezing. He brought Stiles towels, clothes, tea, anything to help his human stay warm, and tried not to worry that Stiles wasn't his usual talkative self. Not that he had been exactly chatty since the nogitsune, but he usually said something, and fifteen minutes had just passed without a single word.

"I want to get out of Beacon Hills, Derek. Anywhere, I don't know, I don't care. I just need to breathe again, to not keep looking over my shoulder, not wake up screaming. I **need** to get out of here," Stiles murmured.

Derek just nodded, understanding the feeling all too well; he didn't need to ask why, not with the wariness the others seemed to unknowingly project towards Stiles. He trusted his senses, his wolf's judgement, and besides, he knew what it was like to feel like a monster. He trusted Stiles with his life, and that wouldn't change, nogitsune or not.

"I know somewhere we can go. If you don't mind me going with you?"

"All right. Just don't talk my ear off," Stiles muttered, sipping at his tea and hiding a brief smile.

Derek grinned; the joke wasn't very good, probably not that funny, but it was still a joke. He'd missed Stiles' jokes, as bad as they were.

"Pack for snow," Derek said, hoping that Stiles would be all right in the cold Canadian weather when he was barely surviving a Californian winter.

Stiles just nodded, and closed his eyes to rest, leaning against Derek.

...

They left the next day, Stiles too restless to delay their departure, and while the Sheriff seemed surprised that they were going together, he hugged Stiles tightly and told Derek to look after his son.

"We'll be back in a few weeks, Dad," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

Derek didn't bring up the skip in his heartbeat until they were both in the car and were long passed the Beacon Hills farewell sign.

"How long are we planning on staying, Stiles?" Derek asked quietly.

Stiles stopped pretending to sleep, shifting in his seat uncomfortably and glancing over at Derek as if to gauge his reaction.

"I don't know. You can go back though, just leave me at a truck stop or something."

Derek let go of the steering wheel long enough to cuff Stiles on the back of the head. "Do you honestly think I'd leave you alone out there? You're stuck with me now, pipsqueak."

"Pipsqueak?!" Stiles echoed, sounding fairly squeaky in his indignation. "Fuck you, sourwolf."

"You too, pip. Now go to sleep. I'll wake you when it's your turn to drive," Derek added, a little softer as he took in the dark circles under Stiles' eyes.

Stiles mumbled something too incoherent for Derek to make out, but shuffled about until he was comfortable, his head resting against his pillow on the window. Derek sighed softly, rubbing his face briefly, then concentrated on the drive.

It would take them almost three days to reach Halifax, and Derek would drive for two, Stiles catching up on sleep and the car's engine lulling him to sleep and drowning out his nightmares. On the third day, Stiles refused to let Derek drive, chugging enough coffee that he needed a restroom in the next state, but was able to drive for the last 24 hours. Derek slept for half of that time, and not even Stiles' sing-along to Spice Girls would be enough to rouse him.

Derek woke up as they were passing the Canadian border and directed Stiles to Halifax, glancing at his map as much as going by memory alone. Things had changed over the years, and he didn't want to rely on a vague memory that might get them lost. By the time they reached the Hale's winter cabin, it was getting dark, and a light snow was starting to fall.

Derek grabbed their bags as Stiles went ahead with a key, his phone's flash as a light, and a full vocabulary of swear words when he almost slipped on the ice. The cabin's electricity wasn't on yet, but Derek had called the day before to get it set up, and had been promised it would be working by the end of the week. Until then, the fireplace, blankets, and shared body warmth should be enough to get them by.

Despite all of the sleep that they'd had in the car, Derek and Stiles were both fairly exhausted, and once Stiles had started a fire with freezing fingers, they bundled up on the old lounge in front of the fireplace and slept until late the next day.

After the electricity was switched on, they fell into a routine. Stiles would join Derek for a morning jog, their breath puffs of air ahead of them, and when they reached the birch tree that signalled the end of the trail, Stiles turned around and headed back to the cabin to be alone while Derek shifted and ran ahead in his wolf form. When he returned to the cabin, he'd chop wood until Stiles called him in.

Stiles still didn't talk as much as he had, but he seemed to enjoy reading and researching as he always had, making his way through the small Hale library methodically. He found cookbooks in the kitchen and worked his way though those as well, systematic and precise with the carefully handwritten recipes. The first time, he'd surprised Derek, and Derek had admitted how it reminded him of his Nan, how she'd made that soup and claimed that the secret was freshly ground pepper, but Stiles' still tasted better. Stiles flushed at the praise, but seemed pleased.

In the evening, they would sit in front of the fireplace and read, play cards or try to outmanoeuvre the other in chess. Sometimes they'd be up well into the night, other times, they'd barely be awake when eight o'clock chimed and eventually fell asleep curled up together on the lounge.

Derek took Stiles out into the snow when he got restless, both of them having difficulties to get their skis working properly, falling down more often than not. Derek almost crashed into a tree when he realised he didn't remember how to stop. Stiles preferred snowboarding, and Derek liked ice skating, especially when Stiles was beside him, cheeks pink and eyes bright in the cool air. That night was the longest time Stiles spent on the phone to his father, even though he'd rung every other day since their arrival, his eyes still just as bright as he recounted Derek's mishap with the skis and tree.

Every day, they'd end back up in the cabin, shivering until the fire was blazing, and their chilled clothes were swapped for dry winter clothes. Derek would make hot chocolate for them, a dash of cinnamon to give it the Hale touch, and an extra marshmallow in Stiles' mug because he always liked scooping out the melted mess with a spoon before drinking the hot chocolate itself.

Almost three months had passed when Derek thought Stiles was ready to answer him, and he looked up from the chessboard (three moves from checkmate) to look at Stiles seriously.

"We're not going back, are we?"

"We will one day; just not yet," Stiles replied softly, ducking his head as if he expected a reprimand.

Derek simply nodded and reached across the table to take Stiles' hand in his own. "Thanks for letting me be here with you, pip."

Stiles squeezed his hand and looked up at him with a smile. "Thanks for being here with me, sourwolf."

Derek smiled and didn't let go of Stiles' hand, even when his king was knocked over a move later. As long as Stiles would have him, Derek didn't ever plan on letting go of him.

...

End of the word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	40. Garboil

Word: Garboil

- Confusion (archaic)

...

Stiles was disappointed more than anything else. He's been working on spells, Kira with swords, Allison with her bow and arrow, and the wolves with their claws, but in the end it was a scream that killed the yeti. Lydia was terrifying at the best of times, but after she killed a yeti simply by screaming at it, she became even more so, looking terrified of herself.

In the garboil that followed the yeti's death, Stiles slipped away from the rest of the pack and headed back to his Jeep. He might not have killed the yeti himself, but they would need to find a way to dispose of it, and he had a long coil of rope in the trunk of his Jeep that could help with that.

By the time it was wrapped around his arm and Stiles made it back to the warehouse, the yeti was already decomposing thanks to a solution Lydia fashioned out of the chemicals left behind. The others looked at him oddly when he turned up with the rope, but Stiles just shrugged and took it back to swap for the first aid kit.

Kira had stocked up on bandages and antiseptic, dabbing at the wounds on Allison's side, Erica cleaning one of Boyd's nastier scrapes. Stiles didn't even bother making his presence known before turning and going back to his car yet again.

"You are valuable, you know," Derek said, startling Stiles.

"What? I never said I wasn't!"

"You were thinking it though," he retorted and Stiles couldn't really argue that. "They only know how to do all of these things because of you, Stiles. Lydia's been practising her banshee scream for weeks, Kira took a first aid course at the hospital, and if it wasn't for you, neither one would have ever done that on their own. Lydia would have ignored it, and Kira probably wouldn't have gone into the hospital unless she was a patient."

Stiles didn't quite believe Derek, but he spoke so earnestly that it wasn't difficult to see that Derek believed what he was saying completely and utterly.

"All right then. Thanks," Stiles said, hugging him warmly. "You're valuable too, y'know," he added, smiling. "And if we weren't so close to a bunch of werewolves, I'd tell you how," Stiles said with a wink.

Derek grinned - ignoring Isaac's 'thank you!' from the warehouse - and kissed Stiles firmly.

"Pretty sure they all know how to get home without me too," Stiles murmured against Derek's lips. "Race you home," he said, slipping into the Jeep and turning the car on.

Derek gave him a head start, waiting until he heard the car turning into the main road before he started to run towards their home. Stiles would win, and Derek would come home to be greeted by a trail of still-warm clothes leading him upstairs to their bedroom. Yeah, Stiles was pretty damn valuable to everyone in the pack.

…

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	41. Peckish

Word: Peckish

...

"You said you were peckish, Stiles. This? This does not count as peckish! It's beyond peckish and into the ballpark of feeding a small army," Derek exclaimed, staring at the mess in the kitchen but not daring to cross the threshold.

Stiles looked up from the oven a little sheepishly, wiping his flour-covered hands on his pants and licking his lips nervously. He looked at the three benches all covered in food and ingredients and winced a little, realising that yeah, he might've gone over the top. Just a tiny bit.

"Well, I thought of eating nuggets for a snack, so I put those in the oven, then I realised we had curly fries, and you can't have nuggets without curly fries, so I put them in too. And then I thought a milkshake would be pretty damn awesome with that too, the milk and salt thing, y'know. And then that made me think of cookies, and we didn't have chocolate chips, so I had to cut up the chocolate by hand, and it got a little messy. Then I remembered that everyone would be coming over tomorrow, and they'd eat all of the cookies again, so I had to make chocolate cupcakes as well so I could hide the cookies and give them all the cupcakes instead. Did you know we have four different kinds of mixing bowls?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure I can see three of them now," Derek said, sighing.

"Yeah, well I've been trying to clean things along the way, which is probably why you can't see the fourth. I think it's buried under the stack of cutlery. So, uh, we might need another mixing bowl if I'm going to get this apple pie crust done."

"Why exactly do you need apple pie on top of all of this?" Derek asked incredulously.

"Um... Because it's apple pie?" Stiles offered, trying to smile and hope he was forgiven because of his cute boyfriend factor. (It wasn't a high hope, honestly.)

Of course, if he wasn't forgiven now, Stiles knew that Derek had a thing about his mouth, and certain parts of Derek's anatomy in his mouth, and figured he get forgiven later.

The buzz from the oven timer distracted them both for a moment, Stiles hurrying to turn and get the nuggets and fries out, placing the waiting tray of cookies in next.

"If you want to go for a run, I can be finished in here in about an hour," Stiles offered as he stood up and turned to face Derek.

Derek, who was obviously a ninja in his spare time, had come into the kitchen without a fucking noise, and promptly scared the shit out of Stiles, who flailed at his sudden appearance and accidentally smacked him in the face.

"Fuck, Stiles. That stings!"

"Don't sneak up on me like that! You know I don't handle sneaky things well!"

"Yeah, yeah. Hand me the tea towel," Derek said, nodding to the check towel hanging off the oven door.

"Are you going to hit me with it? 'Cause I won't pass it to you then," Stiles said warily, holding the tea towel out of reach.

"No, you dork; I'm going to dry the dishes so you can finish the apple pie crust."

Stiles grinned broadly, kissed him firmly, and smacked the tea towel into Derek's chest. Derek cupped Stiles' ass, then reached around him and grabbed a curly fry off the tray. The look on Stiles' face absolutely made up for his burnt fingertips.

...

End of the word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	42. Blithesome

Word: Blithesome

...

Even after the nogitsune, Stiles' blithesome nature barely wavers. He portrays cheerfulness like somebody's watching him at every hour of every day, and for the most part, Stiles' paranoia's actually correct. Scott can't watch him, can barely look at him some days; Kira's still unsure of herself within their group, and spends time with Lydia or Scott instead; Derek has disappeared and is refusing to answer Stiles' texts; Peter's gone, but no one really minds about that; his father has to pull extra shifts at the station to cover for the officers that were killed; but Malia has no where else to go, and no one else she wants to spend time with, so she takes it upon herself to stay with Stiles and doesn't stray from his side unless necessary.

While she's learning to control her coyote with Scott, it's Stiles that she takes her social cues from. Malia sees that a cheerful attitude can be applied just as easily as Lydia's makeup; that a joke can cover up worry; that it takes someone close to Stiles - and not just physically - to crack through the walls he's created. Malia realises and understands that she's not the first to crack through those walls - she's simply being given a glimpse because she watches Stiles so often - and it doesn't take her long to see that the worry he hides, the concern he blocks, the reason his entire body seems to vibrate in pure frustration, is due to Derek Hale.

She doesn't remember seeing the man for herself - the first few weeks were hazy, and Malia sometimes wonders if her own father was an illusion - but Stiles acts differently when he's mentioned. He becomes more flamboyant in his arm movements, hiding the trembling of his hands; he leans on tables casually, but there's a small intake of breath that she doesn't even think Scott sees, as if Stiles is trying to catch his breath or hold back from letting his emotions go completely; his words become careful, and while he lets some worry and concern show, it's not as much as he has within him. Malia has seen it for herself, this worry and concern, when Stiles thinks no one's looking, when he's in his room pinning articles and strings to the entire wall of his bedroom. He gets jittery, runs his hands through his hair, his fingers straying back to the photo of Derek more often than not.

Malia is aware that she may seem annoying and clingy towards Stiles, but he was the one who calmed her after she was forced back into her human self; he gave her her first kiss (and impromptu makeout session); and he's treated her normally, rather than fragile glass like her father, or another pack member like Scott. Malia is fairly certain that she would do anything for Stiles, even go so far as to find Derek Hale for him. Then, when he was found, she would make sure that he wouldn't leave Stiles unless absolutely necessary (and even then, _no_). She wouldn't be able to bear seeing this kind of heartbreak through the cracks in Stiles' walls again.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	43. Environs

Word: Environs

(Teen Wolf x Welcome to Night Vale crossover)

...

Character list:

Stiles is Cecil  
Derek is Carlos  
Scott is intern Dana (the only one who's kind of survived)  
Deucalion is Station Management (though no one actually knows that)  
Lydia is Mayor Pamela Winchell  
John/the Sheriff as ... the Sheriff! (no prizes for this guess)  
Jennifer Blake (Jenny) as Old Woman Josie  
Finstock as John Peters, you know, the farmer  
Jackson Whittemore as Steve Carlsberg

Also, Beacon Hills is Night Vale. Which shouldn't be much of a stretch, really. (So Night Vale Community Radio NVCR is now BHCR.)

...

Be wary of your surroundings, listeners. The Sheriff's Secret Police are watching you and listening to everything you say. Not like the Old Faceless Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home, she's all right. The Sheriff's Secret Police have eyes and ears everywhere, and are listening to every single thing you say, and watching every single thing you do. Usually through cameras and black SUV's with satellite dishes.

Welcome to Beacon Hills.

The Sheriff's Secret Police issued a statement this morning stating that you will be taken away for re-education if you are heard or seen doing any of the following illegal activities:

talking about angels, looking for angels, attempting to find out the hierarchal structure of angels. Angels do not exist.talking about mountains, looking for mountains, attempting to tell others that mountains are real. Mountains are not real.talking about the red light that blinks, looking at the red light that blinks, going near the red light that blinks. There is no red light. Especially not a blinking one.

Also, a reminder from the Sheriff's Secret Police to speak clearly and loudly while talking to others, or even yourself, and if you are doing anything even remotely illegal, please try to make it seem obvious. It makes the Sheriff's Secret Police's job much easier to do, and the Sheriff himself needs all the help he can get at his age.

Mayor Lydia Martin called an emergency press conference today, stating that everything was well, and no one should look up into the sky because there was nothing there, especially not a glowing cloud. There were a few reporters that looked up, and they were immediately vaporised. Mayor Lydia Martin **did** warn them.

The local council would like to remind all citizens that the Dog Park is forbidden. Do not go near or into the Dog Park. No dogs are allowed in the Dog Park.

And in other important local news, residents of Beacon Hills can finally welcome back one of our own. As some of our older listeners may remember, the Hale fire a few years ago left this town devastated with the loss of a large number of the Hale family. The Hales were beloved townsfolk with a high community spirit, and only two children survived. Now, Derek Hale has returned. He states that it is on business, as he is looking into the strange goings on in town, and that he is also looking for his sister. Laura Hale, according to Old Woman Jenny, was last seen at the Dog Park. If anyone has any news on Laura Hale, or witnesses a strange going on, please contact BHCR and we will forward your message on to Derek Hale.

I hope that everyone in town has met or at least seen Derek Hale. He was at Mayor Lydia Martin's second emergency press conference, telling us of the science-like things that have baffled and disturbed those outside of Night Vale, apparently. Derek Hale and his team of scientists have come to Night Vale to study these things, and Derek Hale stated that we are the most scientifically interesting town in America. Take that, Desert Bluffs.

If everyone has seen Derek Hale, I hope we can all agree on how delightful a man he seems to be. His eyes are perfectly shaped and have a hundred different colours, much like the ocean that we never see in this part of the state, his hair is black and gorgeous, and his facial stubble is simply perfect. Have you seen more perfect stubble, listeners? I sure haven't.

Intern Scott has just handed me this note from Station Management. It is written in blood, as the ban on all writing implements and utensils is still in full effect. At least, I hope that is the reason why; you can never tell with Station Management. I will read the note aloud to you now.

**Report the news, Stiles.**

Oh, yes. Of course, of course. On to local traffic.

A man drives along the environs of the town. The man is not you, but he could be you. The car he drives is not yours, but it could be yours. The man who is not you drives the car that is not yours, and the man drives into town. The streets are clear of other cars, but people are standing in town. You may be one of these people. The people are all looking up at the sky, screaming. You are one of these people. You are screaming right now. The man who is not you drives a car that is not yours into a town full of people that are screaming at the sky.

So... The lanes seem pretty clear, just be careful of any townsfolk that may wander into the road, listeners.

Now, sports!

Bobby Finstock, you know, the local lacrosse coach, is hoping for a win this year. Last year's team had some strong competition from Desert Bluffs, what with their latest member being part-bull and all, but we are being assured of a win this year. This confidence is mostly due to local teen Danny Mahealini growing a second head in the off-season. The second head is beloved by all of his team-mates and coach, and apparently speaks fluent Russian. Bobby Finstock, you know, the local lacrosse coach, says that Danny's second head will understand the plays of the Desert Bluffs lacrosse team and they will crush them hard. Go, team!

And now, listeners, I bring you ... the weather.

...

Welcome back, listeners. During the break, a message was received from Jackson Whittemore. The message from Jackson Whittemore is marked urgent and everyone knows that urgent messages must be read. Even if they are from ... ugh, Jackson Whittemore. So, here goes.

The Mayor, the local council, and the Sheriff's Secret Police are working together to deceive you, Beacon Hills. The sky outside has been covered in darkness and it is still the middle of the day. There is a cloud, it is glowing, and they are trying to cover it up and tell you that everything is fine, but it is not fine. The Mayor, the local council, and the Sheriff's Secret Police just want you to think it's fine so that you do not question the sky, nor the glowing cloud, and that you trust in them and all they do.

Okay. I'm just going to stop you right there, Jackson Whittemore. We all know that the Mayor, the local council, and the Sheriff's Secret Police are trying to cover this up. The Mayor said exactly that this morning. Those that ignored her warning were vaporised - do you think Mayor Lydia Martin wants all of the townspeople of Beacon Hills to be vaporised? She, along with the local council and the Sheriff's Secret Police, are trying to save our citizens, and you Jackson Whittemore, would do better to judge your own life before the lives of others.

We have just had a call from Old Woman Jenny, who says that the angels that live in her home are worried... no, not worried, concerned about the glowing cloud. They say that the cloud is coming closer to town, and it is dropping creatures from its core, terrible horrible creatures that will destroy us all. Intern Scott, of course, reminded Old Woman Jenny that since angels are not real, there is no way that this news can be real nor reported on. Oh well. I have just had a look outside of my booth window, and the glow cloud does seem to be getting closer, listeners. In fact, it...

ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD

ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD

ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD

ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD

ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD

I am not sure what just happened, listeners. I tried listening to the tapes of the last few minutes, but they seem to be completely blank. As intern Scott has run outside to collect the animals that are littered across the street, I cannot ask him what happened, though I am not certain that he knows anyway.

Now, a word from our sponsors.

Static noise with high pitched screams every five seconds.  
**StrexCorp. Believe in a smiling god.**

...

A reminder, listeners: tomorrow is Street Cleaning Day. **Hide**, listeners, do not make a sound, leave your weak and your sick where they fall, and I hope that you will survive to see another day.

Now, as the sun is setting, the mysterious glow cloud is continuing towards Desert Bluffs, and my show has come to an end.

If anyone happens to know Derek Hale personally, please tell him and his perfect stubble that I will be dining at Big Rico's Pizza tonight, and he is more than welcome to join me.

Good night, Beacon Hills. Good night.

... ... ...

Erica's not entirely sure what happened with the whole glowing cloud thing. She was inside the laboratory one minute, arguing with Boyd about the calming properties of Stiles' voice over the radio, and the next, they both found themselves outside screaming 'ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD' up at said glowing cloud. It was a little weird for their first day in Beacon Hills, and by the sounds of things, Erica assumed it was only going to get weirder still. (But she did manage to scoop a kitten-like creature off the street before it wandered in front of what seemed to be the only car on the road, so Erica's thinking a free pet's a total win and it won't be all that bad after all.)

"If you go to the shops to get food for Khoshekh here, I'll convince Derek that we need pizza for dinner," Erica negotiated.

Boyd just grinned and caught the car keys she threw towards him.

"I'm right, aren't I, Khoshekh? This isn't going to be so bad after all, is it, you cute lil' thing?" Erica cooed, scratching him behind his ear.

The roaring purr Khoshekh gave in return was obviously a noise of complete and utter agreement.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	44. Clement

Word: Clement

...

Despite the clement weather, Stiles was anything but mild, temperate, or pleasant right now. He was angry, glaring at everyone from the confines of his hoodie, and Stiles didn't know if he could go back inside the building; fuck his career.

His manager didn't know dick about music, let alone a good venue because the shithole he'd booked them into was in one of the seediest parts of town, and they were in Las Vegas. The seediest part of Las Vegas was even seedier than usual, and Stiles doubted they'd have any fans turn up to the fucking gig. There were still a few hours before the show, and somehow, his lead guitarist decided to propose to his drummer and elope. Right there and then.

They'd run off to get married, promising to return before the show, and while Stiles was glad that they'd finally gotten their shit together, he just didnot need to spend the rest of their tour dealing with their sappy honeymoon phase. Their sappy dating phase had been bad enough.

His bad day had gotten even worse when Stiles realised that his luggage hadn't been sent to the hotel (although, just because they stuck the word 'hotel' on the sign, it sure as fuck didn't mean it was one; he was going to fire Finstock one day, the cheap bastard), and Stiles was stuck wearing a merchandise shirt and hoodie. Finstock had given them to him, cheerfully adding that the cost would be deducted from Stiles' pay.

If things didn't improve by the time the gig started, Stiles was fairly sure that he might just try to asphyxiate someone with his microphone.

"Oh, hey, nice hoodie. You like Void too?" a voice asked, and Stiles turned on the speaker with a scowl.

His scowl kind of fell through 'cause no matter how pissed he was at his manager, his day, or just the world in general, the level of hotness this guy reached could not be ignored.

"You're a fan?" Stiles asked, glancing over the guy in a not-too-subtle way.

"Yep, ever since 2005 when they were known as The Oni," he admitted with a slight grin.

"Oh, fuck, don't remind me of that name. Jackson chose it, the douche. Thought it sounded like 'The One' and I had to resist kicking him every time he used it to chat up someone."

"You're part of the band?" the guy asked, slowly realising that he wasn't talking to another fan.

Stiles shrugged and tugged the hood back off his head. "Hey, I'm Stiles," he said, holding out a hand to shake.

The guy stared at him, then his hand, and then shook Stiles' hand firmly.

"Derek. I... Can I just say thank you for getting rid of Lydia? I know you're all still friends and that's really great, but her style of singing really didn't suit the rest of the tone you guys have got going. I mean, she can shriek and scream like nobody's business, that solo in Rip killed, but... Oh, fuck, I can't believe I'm saying this. Shit. I'm just going to shut up now because that's probably the worst thing anyone's ever said to you," Derek said, blushing and his ears turning red.

"Huh. Actually, it's one of the smarter things someone's said to me today. And surprisingly honest. You've listened to Banshee? Most fans try to boycott Lydia, which I think's stupid, 'cause awesome music is awesome, no matter who's singing it. And yeah, you're right, that solo in Rip killed," Stiles said with a grin.

He's hot and he knows his stuff. God dammit. Where've you been all day?! I could've used a good conversation this morning. Or this afternoon. Or any time in between, Stiles thought to himself.

"So, you seem to know a lot about me; what do you do, Derek?" he asked curiously.

"I'm a radio jockey for a community radio station. Hale of a morning," he added, looking a little embarrassed at the mention.

"Oh, I loved that show when I was in California," Stiles said, grinning at him broadly. "I loved that skit you did as the Grumpy Cat, even though no one outside of the booth could actually see your face. Laura cracking up was fucking hilarious though; I swear I laughed more that morning than I had for weeks. Oh, and you should totally serenade the ladies of Beacon Hills again, your voice is like a wet dream come true... Which is probably one of the worst things I've said today; sorry, let me retract that. Hi Derek, I'm a big fan of your show."

Derek seemed surprised that Stiles had even heard of him, let alone his show.

"So, seems like we're both fans? Want to go fanboy with me over coffee?" Stiles offered with a grin.

"Yes. That would be great," Derek said, grinning broadly.

"Cool. When we're done, want to go see Scott get hitched to Isaac?"

"Fuck yes; I've had a bet running with Laura that they'd tie the knot while on tour, so if they go through with it, she'll owe me $50. Think I can get a photo with them? No one will believe me unless I provide evidence."

"Sure thing, I'm pretty sure they're getting Elvis to marry them, so there'll be ample opportunity to get evidence; mine's leaning more towards blackmail though," Stiles said with a laugh.

Despite his awful day, the night improved a lot. Even with Scott and Isaac being sappy towards each other (their wedding rings proudly on display, and the wedding video playing on the screen behind them), Stiles still made it through the gig without asphyxiating anyone with his mic. He attributed it to Derek being in the front row, singing along with their songs. Stiles winked at Derek when he caught his eye during Heart Full of Fireflies, and he grinned when Derek's ears did that gorgeous blushing thing again. Fanboys, the both of them.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	45. Smirch

Word: Smirch

Author's note: A person's virginity is not only the physical act itself, but also an object that can be gifted to someone else.

...

"What on Earth were you thinking, Stiles?"

Stiles hung his head, face red and blotchy as he tried not to cry. Matron Blake had finally noticed that morning that he no longer had his object of virginity, and had pulled him aside after the others ran out after breakfast to play outside. She had been berating him severely for the past fifteen minutes, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up and die.

"Whatever reputation you might have had for yourself has been smirched completely now. You gave away your virginity to some lowly guard, and now no one will have you! Do you honestly expect anyone to want you, an orphan with no dowry, and now not even your virginity to gift! You might as well spend the rest of the night working on the street; it's all you'll ever be good for!"

Matron Blake stormed away then, her face twisted into something ugly and terrifying, and Stiles took the chance to run upstairs to the boys' dorm. He was alone in the room, and curled up with his knees pressed to his chest, eyes squeezed shut as he tried not to listen to the voice in his head that told him he was an idiot. It sounded a lot like Matron Blake,

Stiles had truly believed that Derek was different from the others in the King's Guard, that he actually meant it when he said he loved him, that he would return in a month to take him away. It had been two months, yet Derek still hadn't returned to their small town within. None in the King's Guard had, in fact, and they usually came every month like clockwork. It was one of the reasons Stiles had decided to offer Derek his virginity; he thought that even if Derek left his bed cold the next morning, they would always have next month, just like they had for the past year and a half. But now that was gone too.

Matron Blake said that Derek had just used him for his virginity. It had been such a lovely keepsake that others in the orphanage had tried to steal it and substitute it as their own, but Stiles hid it and clutched it tight in his sleep so he wouldn't lose the golden locket. It had been too large for him to wear when he was younger, but he'd since grown and had taken to wearing it day and night. He had kept it close, safely guarded in his hand at night; the locket was the only thing he had of his parents, and Stiles had told himself that he would only give it to a person that he knew loved him. Obviously, he'd been wrong.

Stiles felt sickened at the thought. It went against everything he thought he knew about Derek: he'd seen him stop and help a child crying on the side of the road, when others within the Guard had simply walked past without a care. He'd seen him smile and laugh, he'd listened to Derek talk about his sisters with such love in his voice and expression, and Stiles couldn't believe that he would use him like this, for a chain and locket of gold.

Derek hadn't anything to give him in return, and he'd seemed ashamed as he explained how he'd given it to a woman that he thought he'd loved when he'd been far too young to know what love truly was. He sounded so certain, whispering words of love and admiration to Stiles, and he ... he had stupidly believed it.

He was eighteen next month, and when Derek held him, kissed him, told him that he loved him, Stiles had stupidly thought that he could leave with him, join the King's Guard and get away from this hellhole. Derek had even shown him how to fight with both fists and a sword, and he'd practised. While the other children ran off to play and throw mud at each other, he slipped away to the forest and practised every move that Derek had taught him. He wanted to show him how much he'd improved over the past few weeks, month, two months.

Fuck, he was so fucking stupid. **Of course** someone like Derek would never love him. Derek was beautiful and gorgeous, and Stiles ... wasn't. At all. Stiles should have known right from the start that Derek would never want him, not in his bed, nor in his life. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He groaned in annoyance when he heard squeals of delight and laughter coming from outside, and Stiles turned over, burying his head under his thin pillow. It didn't help much, and certainly not at all when Isaac ran into the room, puffing in exertion, face red and eyes wide as he frantically tugged on the pillow.

"You... You have to... Stiles... It's Derek," he finally said.

"What?" Stiles murmured, lifting the pillow to frown at Isaac.

"Derek! He's outside. Come on," Isaac said, tugging on Stiles' tunic now.

Stiles reluctantly let himself be led out of the room, his frown deepening when he saw Matron Blake standing at a window with her jaw hanging open. Isaac didn't slow down enough for Stiles to see what she was gaping at, but as they both spilled outside, he saw for himself.

Derek was sitting atop a horse, sword by his side as he grinned down at the gathered children around him. Then he spotted Stiles and his grin faded, giving way to a much more nervous expression. He got off the horse carefully, making sure not to hit a child, and made his way over. Stiles could see that Derek was wearing his locket, the item proudly on display, as a lover might, and nope, he did not get teary. (Beside him, Isaac started sniffling.)

"I'm sorry it took me so long to return, Stiles," Derek said, his voice quiet.

He reached out to cup Stiles' face, as he'd done two months before, his hand warm against his cheek as Derek pressed a kiss to his mouth and apologised profusely before leaving him cold. Derek must have seen something in Stiles' expression because he let his hand drop back to his side, looking ashamed. Well, Stiles wasn't going to stand for that. Not from the man who had his virginity, damn it. He moved forward, grabbed Derek's hand, and pressed it to his cheek, giving Derek his stubborn ass look (as Isaac called it). Derek sighed in relief, his thumb stroking against Stiles' skin gently.

"You can keep apologising for a while longer," Stiles said thickly, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat as he turned his head to kiss Derek's palm.

Derek reddened slightly and nodded. "It took me a while longer than I thought it would to retire from the King's Guard."

"You retired from the Guard?" Stiles asked in surprise.

He nodded. "I don't want you for a single week every month, Stiles; I want you for always, just as I promised."

Derek barely managed to get the words out of his mouth before Stiles pressed up against him, holding his shoulders and kissing him firmly.

"Uh, Stiles? Perhaps you should take it somewhere private; you don't want the kids asking Matron Blake where babies come from," Isaac muttered.

Stiles made a brief noise of agreement in response, but took his time to pull away from Derek's lips. Derek looked a little dazed his mouth falling open to reveal his cute bunny teeth that Stiles admittedly loved. He gave a grin, took Derek's hand and led him back into the orphanage, straight past Matron Blake who was still staring (Stiles didn't like the look of lust in her eyes, the old witch), and up to the dorm.

"You're not upset with me, are you?" Derek asked softly when the door was closed behind them.

"I was," Stiles admitted. "Two months, Derek. I thought... I thought you'd used me for my virginity," he murmured, his fingers playing with the gold locket around Derek's neck.

"I would never do that, Stiles. I told you about Kate; do you really think I could do the same thing to anyone, especially anyone as important as you?"

Stiles shook his head briefly, wrapping his arms around Derek to hug him firmly. "It was self-doubt and the negativity from others... You could've sent a letter," he added sourly.

"I couldn't think of the right words to write," Derek admitted, stroking Stiles' back gently.

He mumbled something incoherent under his breath, snuggling in closer and thinking about the last time they'd held each other this way. They'd been naked, or getting there at least, Derek still in his uniform pants as Stiles clung onto him for dear life, kissing him eagerly and trying to get him to a flat surface as soon as possible. His virginity locket was already around Derek's neck, and he was staring at Stiles like he'd been handed the key to the kingdom, like Stiles was something special.

"What are you going to do now that you're no longer in the Guard?" he asked, looking up at him.

"I'll find work here, or wherever you want to go; I don't care, so long as you're with me," Derek said, blushing red again.

Stiles smiled at him brightly. "Sounds good to me."

...

It wasn't a fairytale ending by far, and they both took time to adjust to their new lives. Stiles snored, Derek hogged the blankets, and if the weather was bad enough, the roof leaked right onto their bed, no matter where they moved the bed.

Derek got a job as a blacksmith, and when the King's Guard were in town, he spent just as much time repairing horse's shoes as he did catching up with the Guards themselves. A few months after he began his job as a blacksmith, Derek presented Stiles with a locket of his own, black metal swept up into intricate swirls to match the pattern of Stiles' locket, and he found comfort in holding the warm metal, just as he once had with his own locket.

Stiles discovered that he could cook and quite well at that. He charmed his way into getting a job at the local inn, and while the pay was paltry, he was allowed to take any leftover food home every night, which saved on their expenses. Scott, the son of one of the inn's barmaids, was pleasant and became a fast friend. He helped Stiles carry the food home, chatting about his apprenticeship under the local doctor.

Stiles invited Isaac to leave the orphanage and stay with them, an offer he took up in the middle of the night almost four days later, soaked to the bone with a black eye, holding his bleeding nose with one hand and his object of virginity in the other. Someone had tried to take it from him, the silver arm band shiny and attractive enough. Stiles had calmed Isaac down while Derek went to get Scott, who knew enough about medicine now to offer some help. Isaac went strangely quiet around Scott, and they started spending a lot more time together after that night. Stiles wasn't entirely surprised to see Scott wearing Isaac's arm band three months later.

Despite the snoring and blanket hogging and the petty arguments that could sometimes ensure from both, Stiles and Derek loved each other fiercely and with their whole selves. Even in the middle of a fight, Stiles could see the gold locket around Derek's neck and pull him into a hug, arms tight around him. Or else Derek would see the locket he had crafted hanging around Stiles' neck and caress his cheek, his own way to express his love, and they would both break, pulling the other close and over to the bed.

Derek told Stiles that he loved him every morning and night, no matter what happened between those times, caressing his face gently before kissing him. Stiles no longer doubted that he meant every word, and he made sure that Derek knew that he loved him just as much.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	46. Rident

Word: Rident

...

His entire expression was rident, and all he could do was stare at him in return. They'd been friends for years now, but this was the first time he'd seen him smiling so happily, so genuinely. It had been far too long, in fact; far longer than he would care to admit. He deserved to smile and laugh as much and as often as possible. Their lives just weren't made for that though, and apart from the snarky comments that slipped through the cracks now and then, there seemed to be little cause for happy smiles and pure laughter. Even Scott and Kira's wedding had been somewhat somber, even though the celebrant's expression made them chuckle, the poor woman staring at them in horror, covered in blood, dirt and scratches as they were; Scott just had to propose while they were chasing a swamp monster.

Still, whatever he'd done to make Stiles smile at him so warmly and brightly, Derek resolved to keep doing it every day for the rest of their lives. (Derek suspected that it had something to do with him telling Stiles that he loved him. He was completely right.)

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	47. Dactylogram

Word: Dactylogram

- A fingerprint

...

Stiles woke up sore, aching, and bruised. He'd been hurt while running from a hag the night before, and the old ugly bitch had thought it would be a good idea to grab him around the neck, lift him off the ground and try to induce a nightmare in his waking mind, her fingers and long sharp nails digging into his skin. She was a hag, he was a mere human, so of course, her idea had worked completely. Stiles had felt oxygen sucking out of his lungs and chest, his eyes burning as he scrabbled at her hands futilely, and a nightmare formed in his mind. He was forced to see his loved ones dying over and over again, some of them already dead and gone, but others alive and dying.

Just as he saw Derek dying, the hag had been ripped away from Stiles abruptly, leaving him gasping for air. He was unable to move from where he was, frozen to the spot, his body shuddering and shivering in the aftermath of his waking nightmare, but not responding to his need and desire to get the fuck out of there. The hag was torn to pieces before his eyes, but Stiles barely saw it, still stuck in his nightmare. Then Derek was in front of him - alive, breathing, golden eyed, even if he was still covered in blood like he had been in Stiles' nightmare - and Stiles blinked once, twice, when Derek wrapped his arms around him. Derek murmured softly, trying to calm his shivering body, and eventually had to carry Stiles over to the Jeep.

Stiles had come out of his stupor when they were almost home, having a panic attack just as Derek turned the corner into the street. He had begged Derek to pull over, barely managing to open his car door before throwing up. Stiles had closed the door, mumbling an apology to Mrs. Kibbitch's lawn under his breath, and Derek had driven him down to the house. He had started shivering again and didn't have the energy to protest when Derek carried up to the house and inside gently. His father wasn't home and wouldn't be until morning, and Stiles had been so tired and scared, his mind and energy drained, that he'd begged Derek to stay with him, refusing to let go of his hand. If he let go of Derek, then the nightmare would return, and this wouldn't be real. Derek would be dead, and he'd still be under the hag's thrall, Stiles was sure of it.

Stiles must have babbled all of this out loud, his mouth not filtering his brain properly - or at all, really - and Derek just nodded. He cleaned them both up in the bathroom, Stiles leaning against Derek's back, too tired to stand on his own, as Derek washed the hag's blood from his hands and body. Then he turned around, moving them both so that Stiles was in front of him, and Derek held him up carefully, brushing his teeth gently. Stiles remembered spitting and rinsing, barely remembered being carried back to his room effortlessly, and the very last conscious memory was of Derek sliding his arm around his waist as they both settled in to bed.

Considering everything he'd gone through the night before, Stiles was surprised he didn't feel worse. He suspected that Derek had leeched some of his pain over the course of the night, and while he couldn't remember it happening, Stiles was damn glad that he had. He sighed and turned in Derek's embrace, snuggling up close to his chest and letting himself drift off to sleep again.

When Stiles woke up again a few hours later, Derek was no longer in his bed, and he could hear his father in the kitchen downstairs. He remembered the bacon that had been kept in the freezer for a special occasion and bolted out of bed, running downstairs before his body reminded him that moving - let alone moving fast - was a very bad idea. He stopped in the kitchen doorway, groaning in pain, vaguely realising that Derek had stayed and was still here, cooking something at the stove. His groan of pain was enough to make his father turn from the kitchen island to look over at him.

"Stiles?! What happened? What did you do?" he snarled, grabbing Derek by the arm fiercely.

"No, Dad! Dad, he didn't do this. Ow, fuck. Shit. He didn't. There was a hag," Stiles said, his voice wheezy.

He waved Derek over, who looked somewhat terrified, but slipped out of the Sheriff's grip and over to Stiles, touching his shoulder and leeching his pain as gently as possibly. When he felt like he could talk again, Stiles held Derek's hand where it was, and returned his attention to his father once more.

"The hag was kind of stalking me last week, giving me nightmares - well, more than usual, at least - that sort of thing. I figured out what happened because those nightmares were insane. I mean, she was one twisted fuck; I am going to have trouble sleeping for years now that bitch has had her claws in me. Feels like I've got a perfect set of dactylograms around my fucking neck, and probably looks it too," Stiles added, still too incensed and pained to limit his swearing. "Derek killed her last night and drove me home. He took care of me and I'm pretty sure he spent most of the night leeching my pain," he added, glancing to the dark circles and general weariness that seemed to exude from Derek this morning.

Derek blushed a bit, not meeting Stiles' gaze, and pulled away from him to check on the stove.

"Okay... I'm sorry about that, son. I just get a bit protective of Stiles, and I've seen far too many people dismiss physical abuse. I'm glad I don't have to shoot you," the Sheriff said.

Derek nodded firmly. "So am I, sir."

Stiles seemed pleased that everything would be all right now, and moved to plonk his butt at the kitchen island. "So, what's for breakfast?"

"Egg whites on wholemeal toast. With salt-reduced butter," Derek added.

The Sheriff winced, sighed a long-suffering sigh, and moved to sit beside his son. "I can't believe you've already got him cooking healthy for you, kid."

"It's for you, not me," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

"You keep telling yourself that, kid. Now, how much ketchup am I allowed to put on my eggs?"

"None," Stiles and Derek chorused.

The Sheriff muttered about conspiracies under his breath; Derek relented, letting him have a single teaspoon of ketchup.

Stiles still felt awful, his throat held the hag's marks and bruises for two straight weeks, and every night Derek chose to stay with Stiles to help him control the pain and ease his nightmares.

Three weeks later, long after Stiles' bruises had faded and his nightmares gave way to his normal night terrors, the Sheriff came home to find Derek's car still sitting in his driveway. Derek must have heard him arrive and was obviously trying to escape unseen, but the Sheriff had sharper eyes than that - even after a double shift at the station - and could hardly have missed a half-naked man trying to climb out of his son's bedroom window. It seemed that nervous werewolves were just as fallible as the rest of the human population.

"I think I'll have those egg whites with a rasher of bacon this morning, son," the Sheriff called, smirking up at him a little.

Derek sighed and nodded. "Yes, sir," he replied, pulling himself back up into Stiles' room.

The Sheriff chuckled to himself as he went inside. Now, he just had to get his son and his son's boyfriend to agree to the ketchup.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	48. Lagniappe

Word: Lagniappe

- A small gift given with a purchase to a customer, by way of compliment or for good measure; bonus.

...

"Dude, he totally likes you," Scott says from the jewellery counter, grinning broadly.

"He does not; shut up, he's looking," Stiles hisses, spritzing a perfume in Scott's direction.

Unfortunately, he's too far away for it to make much of an impact.

"Boys, what are you two doing?" Finstock, their somewhat eccentric manager asks, standing between the two counters to glare at them in turn.

(Stiles notices that Finstock glares at him longer than Scott, and that's totally not fair.)

"Uh, working," Scott replies, a little slowly and obviously confused at Finstock's question.

"No, you're not. Because you know what I'd see if you were working? People buying things! You two are meant to be the charming young guys that draw people in to buy our things, you know that right?"

"Charming? Mr. Finstock, sir, I really don't think Stiles can be charming," Scott says, looking over at his friend with a frown.

Stiles starts contemplating just how far those damn perfume bottles with the extendable spray sticks can reach.

"Of course he can! You both can. Look, we'll get a volunteer," Finstock says, marching off ... directly to the guy that Scott thinks has a crush on Stiles (and who Stiles totally has a crush on, but let's not go there; he's a potential client, and Stiles just thinks he's pretty from afar which he's been assured is not a serious foundation for any kind of relationship, and seriously, what the fuck is Finstock doing?).

"Geez, he can be scarily persuasive," Scott mutters in surprise. "Now I know how he got to be manager," he adds.

Stiles still thinks that threats or blackmail was involved to get Finstock in charge of a whole damn store, but sure, the persuasive thing works too.

"This gentleman has kindly volunteered to be a ... volunteer," Finstock finishes with a slight frown. "Now, sir, do you have a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Anyone special in your life?"

The guy's eyes flick over to Stiles, and if he didn't look so terrified, Stiles might actually be tempted to read something into that.

"Sister. Older," he adds quickly, as if the faster he says this, the faster it'll be over.

"Excellent! Now, just to prove that Stiles here can be charming, we're going to get him to try and sell you something, okay? And I'll personally pay you $50 if you find out about his sister without asking the obvious question. So, uh, just pretend you don't know about his sister, all right, Stiles?" Finstock adds.

"All right," Stiles replies, and he's not sure if he wants to run and hide, or do this and charm the fucking pants off this guy. (Although, the second one, definitely later. In private. Without Finstock anywhere nearby, in sight, or in hearing distance. Or in the same state, preferably. Yeah, he's so never getting a date from this guy now, screw whatever chance he might have had before this.)

Fuck it; he needs the bonus for fuel, and the guy hasn't run off yet. Why the hell not?

"All right, get 'em tiger," Finstock says, practically shoving the guy towards Stiles' perfume counter, then stands back to watch.

Scott is watching him with slightly wide eyes, as if he's sure Stiles is going to crash and burn because he's actually talked about this guy's stubble with Scott one night, and fuck, he is going to crash and burn so utterly. Fucking fuck fucker.

The guy's standing there, obviously nervous and still too terrified to run because Finstock might actually be crazy enough to tackle him to the ground over this. Stiles feels so shitty that he's been dragged into this mess, and offers him a smile, hoping to ease his nerves.

"Hi, I'm Stiles," he says. "What's your name?"

"Derek," he replies, glancing behind to where Finstock's still watching them carefully.

"Nice to meet you, Derek. Are you looking for something for yourself?" Stiles asks, his grin broadening a bit. "We've got cologne and aftershave, as well as perfume," he adds when Derek.

"Really? I didn't know that," Derek admits curiously, stepping forward to look at the display properly.

"Yeah, you wouldn't when you spend half the day hovering in the underwear department trying to check out my staff," Finstock mutters, but his voice - which is never quiet on a good day - is loud enough to be heard and both Derek and Stiles go bright red.

"Shh... sir. Stiles still hasn't gotten Derek to buy anything; I'm not convinced," Scott adds, far too happily for Stiles' liking.

Stiles promises himself to find the most disgustingly floral perfume in the whole display and spray the entire damn bottle into Scott's locker.

"He's right. Go on, Stilinski," Finstock adds, grinning like the absolute meddling shit of a manager he is.

"Sorry, I really need this job," Stiles mutters, and while Derek's still red and blushing, he nods in return.

Right, then. Since they're already doing this and are both completely embarrassed, Stiles might as well turn on the charm to eleven. It'll be good practice for Jungle next weekend, if nothing else.

"David Beckham's cologne is very popular, usually for the guys that like to throw names around and act like big sports stars; Hummer's good for the guys who think their car's an approximate of their penis - " Finstock chokes here, and Stiles hopes it hurt " - but Armani is a favourite for the guy who ... well, who looks like you, honestly," he says, glancing Derek over in a way that cannot be misconstrued (Derek blushes again, but it's softer than earlier, and he doesn't look as embarrassed; Stiles figures it's a good thing).

Stiles spritz's the cologne on his wrist and offers it to Derek with a smile that's probably more predatory than salesperson (although, with some of the salespeople he's met, Stiles thinks perhaps those smiles aren't so different after all). Derek can't seem to look away from his wrist and hand, even as he moves forward to the counter, and takes a small sniff, blushing all over again. (If Stiles knew it would be this easy to make the guy blush, he would have done it days ago.)

"A little musky, I'll admit, but it's a more pleasing scent than some of the spicier colognes, which can be harsh and irritable. Do you use a cologne now?" Stiles asks, even though he's probably close enough to take a whiff for himself (and seriously, temptation never looked this fucking good before).

"Just a generic brand; not really into wasting money on this sort of stuff," Derek admits, looking a little embarrassed at the admission.

"That's totally fine; not a lot of people are. But I tell you what, this definitely makes all the difference. It's completely different to the usual body sprays 'cause let's face it, those things stink to the high heavens and make people want to run away from you, no matter what clever advertising they use," Stiles points out, receiving a nod from all three men (Scott had learned the hard way that Axe was not a magnet for women). "Cologne, when used correctly, is much more subtle and won't overpower your girlfriend."

"Don't have a girlfriend," Derek says.

"Boyfriend?" Stiles asks.

"No; I'm single," he replies quickly, glancing over his shoulder to Finstock and Scott now; they're utterly enthralled in this, and Stiles is pretty sure that Derek is contemplating running.

"I don't believe that," Stiles says, grinning.

Derek just shrugs. Shit, he's losing him.

"Anyone in your family nag you about getting a girlfriend or boyfriend?" he asks with a slight chuckle.

"My sister, mostly," Derek says, rolling his eyes.

"Let me guess: she's happily married, has a kid on the way, and thinks you'd be happier if you just settled down already?"

"Scarily accurate, actually."

"Thought so; it's happening to all of my friends, too. I mean, if I want to lounge around, avoid people, and not move for two days straight, it's not bothering anyone else, so what's the problem, right?"

("Geez, Stiles, it was one time; and you hadn't showered in three days," Scott mutters across from them.)

"But y'know, when I do decide to go out, after I've made sure I look fucking dapper," Stiles says, glancing down to his shirt and waistcoat with a brief smirk, "I always put on my favourite cologne. 'Cause without that extra bit of confidence - and the olfactory sense is one of the best in the human body - then the night's just going to be a total loss."

Derek seems to be staring at Stiles' lips - and he's totally okay with that because it gives him a few extra seconds to check out Derek's eyes, green and blue with flecks of gold, and he kind of has to resist the urge to pull Derek over the counter and kiss him until they're both breathless.

"So what's your favourite cologne?" Derek asks, sounding a little breathless anyway.

"Jean Paul Gaultier," Stiles replies, pulling the cologne out. "It's a very herbal scent, with lavender, mint, orange, and vanilla, and it is definitely lighter than most of the colognes we offer. I like it because it doesn't smell like chemicals, it smells natural, and that goes a long way with people," he adds, wiping off the Armani before spritzing this cologne and offering his wrist to Derek once more.

"You're right. I'll buy two boxes if you give me your phone number," Derek says, voice low and obviously trying not to get Scott or Finstock's attention.

Stiles grins broadly and nods. "Thought you'd never ask."

Scott cheers when Stiles pulls out a department bag and two boxes of the cologne.

"You took fifteen minutes to get a sale, Stilinski. Practice a bit more, would you? My dead grandmother could sell things faster than you could," Finstock adds, rolling his eyes. "And Derek? Next time you want to hit on one of my salespeople, do it on their own time, all right?"

Derek watches as Stiles writes his phone number on both boxes, as well as his receipt, and the store's business card. "I'll keep that in mind, sir."

Finstock mutters under his breath, pulls out his wallet and puts a $50 note on the cologne counter for Stiles. "Take him somewhere nicer than a burger joint, Stilinski."

"Finstock to security, Finstock to security," a deep voice comes over the store's PA system.

"God dammit, Greenberg! If this is about another kid in a costume, I'm going to fire you!" Finstock yells up at one of the cameras, stalking off to the security area.

A woman walks up to the jewellery counter, and Scott beams at her as he starts his own sales pitch.

Stiles takes one of the complimentary spa boxes and puts it in along with the colognes and offers the bag to Derek. "A lagniappe for your sister," he explains with a grin. "And I'll tell you something else that I don't usually tell customers," he adds to Derek. "That cologne smells amazing after you've just fucked someone while wearing it."

Derek goes red again, but then he nods and gives Stiles a once over and a smirk that makes his stomach flutter. "I think I'll be the judge of that."

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	49. Estivate

Word: Estivate

...

It took Derek almost four straight weeks to realise that Stiles probably wasn't going to leave his loft. This realisation happened after he'd gone for a run one morning, the hour and weather finally cool enough to do so, and returned to his loft only to discover that it no longer smelled like himself. Well, his scent was still there - it would be difficult to remove it since he'd been living there for years already - but it was intermingled with Stiles' scent so much that Derek actually stood in the entry for a few minutes, wondering when the hell Stiles had moved in without him realising.

"Dude, close the door, you're letting the heat in!" Stiles groaned from the couch.

Still stunned, Derek did as instructed, pulling his shirt off and taking his towel off the coat stand by the door to wipe off the sweat that had gathered mere minutes into his run. Stiles had brought the stand in one day, muttering about sweat stains on the floor, and Derek had to admit, it was easier to clean the floor now that he wasn't sweating all over it.

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost? You haven't, have you? If it's Boyd, ignore anything he says about what I did last night!" Stiles said.

Derek blinked, frowning slightly. "What did you do last night?"

"Nothing that needs to be mentioned aloud. Now, what's up?" Stiles asked, hanging over the end of the couch to look at Derek.

"When did you move in? And why didn't I notice?"

"I moved in at the start of summer when I realised your place gets a better breeze than home, duh. And the reason you didn't notice is because I've been giving you pretty damn mind-blowing orgasms nearly every night since then," Stiles quipped with a smirk.

"Can't argue that," Derek muttered to himself, blushing slightly.

He honestly thought the hot weather would deter Stiles' insatiable nature, but even that hadn't been enough. Though there were a significant amount of cool cloths applied to their bodies afterwards, and the cuddling had lessened even though Derek woke up with Stiles draped over him most mornings.

"So, were you planning on telling me?"

"I thought you'd realise I wasn't estivating for the summer by the time winter came around and I was still here," Stiles said, shrugging. "Then I'd claim it on hibernating. And by the way, I'm stealing your thumb-hole jumper this winter."

"You said that last winter, and then you made me wear it all the time."

"Yeah, well you look fucking gorgeous in it; I'm still torn between wanting to wear it myself, and wanting you to wear it all the time."

"I'll buy you your own, how about that?" Derek offered.

"Oh, I knew I loved you for a reason. I made fresh lemonade; can you bring me a glass when you come back? I've got Mario Kart set up already."

"Get your own lemonade," Derek said, throwing his sweaty towel at Stiles' head as he headed to the bathroom.

"Can't; I'm going to be busy jerking off with your towel now," Stiles called with a grin.

(Derek brought him the lemonade.)

Later, after Stiles kicked Derek's ass at Mario Kart (Princess Peach rules, Der, you should know that by now), and they'd reciprocated blow jobs, Derek was lying on the couch with Stiles on top of his chest, carding his fingers through Stiles' hair. They were both sweaty again, but neither one wanted to get up to turn the air conditioner on.

"Hey Stiles?"

"Mmm?"

"Thanks for moving in with me."

"Any time. Thanks for not kicking me out," Stiles said with a grin.

"Haven't kicked you out before, not going to start now," Derek muttered, pulling Stiles up to kiss him firmly.

Stiles sighed happily against him and kissed him back. They stayed that way for another ten minutes before Stiles complained that the heat was too much, and got up to turn the air conditioner on after all.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	50. Prudence

Word: Prudence

...

Not long after Stiles sees the second notice on his father's desk at the station, bills for Eichen House, Stiles stops buying takeaway completely. John complains, mutters about health and burgers, but Stiles refuses to budge, and even steals his credit card from his wallet so he can't buy anything on the sly.

"We shouldn't even be using it, Dad. It's for emergencies only," Stiles adds.

"Curly fries are an emergency," John argues, hoping to get his son to agree or even smile at least, but Stiles just shakes his head.

"No, they're not. We're eating healthy, even if I have to cook every single night myself."

"That's all well and good, son, but you don't know how to cook. And while you can make a mean cheese toastie, I don't fancy the idea of eating those for the rest of my life," John points out.

This response makes Stiles become even more stubborn than before (John really didn't think that was possible), and he glowers, folding his arms over his chest.

"I'll learn; practice makes perfect, and all that. Now, get going to work, or you'll be late. I'll have dinner ready for when you come home."

John comes home to three cheese toasties. He eats them without saying a word, but he doesn't like his chances of eating a proper meal in the near future.

...

"Where's Stiles?" Derek asks Scott, frowning when he realises that Scott's about to start the pack meeting without Stiles in attendance.

"Stiles is trying to make his dad eat healthily, so he's taking a cooking class at the community college," Scott replies.

Derek nods and settles back down on the lounge. The rest of the meeting goes by fairly quickly without Stiles' usual commentary, sarcastic comments, and sometimes smart ideas.

Derek finds that he feels weird after the meeting; it just didn't feel _right_ without Stiles there, he realises. He spends a good fifteen minutes pacing after this realisation, then finally decides to go visit Stiles because he's a friend, and friends visit each other, right? Right.

He turns into Stiles' street before he realises that Stiles actually has other friends, and they've probably come to visit him. Then Derek worries that Stiles is still at the cooking class thing, and he actually has no way of finding out when it finishes without Scott interrogating him. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the Jeep sitting in the driveway, and pulls up beside it. Derek can hear Stiles swearing profusely inside the house, and he rushes out to the house without really thinking about it, opening the door and running towards the kitchen.

"Goddamn son of a bitch, that motherfucking hurts, you fucking shit of a fuckwad!"

Stiles is screaming at the stove, and Derek stops at the kitchen doorway because he's pretty sure he's never heard that string of swearwords from anyone before; even with Stiles' usual profanity.

"What're you looking at, sourwolf?" Stiles mutters, moving to the sink to run his burnt hand under cold running water.

"What are you cooking?" Derek asks, ignoring the barb; he can feel the wave of embarrassment washing off of Stiles easily enough and doesn't want to add to it.

"Trying to cook chicken burgers 'cause Dad's been moaning about burgers for two straight weeks now, and there's only so much I can take. Of course, there's only so much I can cook that actually comes out edible. The cooking class is supposed to help, but I swear, that man hates my guts. He belittles every single fucking thing I try to do, and so fucking what if it's not exactly what the recipe says?" Stiles mutters.

"Can I help?" Derek offers, hesitantly, and trying not to bruise Stiles' ego any more than it already is.

"Sure, if you don't mind me swearing at the appliances every now and then," Stiles says, shrugging.

(Stiles, as Derek soon finds out, manages to swear at _everything_ in the kitchen; even the utensils and chopping board. He shouldn't find it endearing, but Derek's pretty sure that Gordon Ramsay himself would be proud of Stiles.)

It takes a serious oil burn for Stiles to stop flailing about in the kitchen, and while Derek can't lie and say it doesn't hurt, he's extremely glad for his werewolf healing ability. _It really fucking hurt_.

"Fuck! I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have... I mean... I didn't... Ah, fuck. I'm so fucking useless! Can't even fix this disaster of a meal and I've fucking burnt you to the bone! Oh god, is that _actually_ your bone?" Stiles asks weakly, sounding nauseous.

Derek's pretty sure it is, but he shakes his head. "My skin's healing; it's nothing. Just calm down, okay? You're not being assessed on this, and it's not life or death."

"Easy for you to say, you're a millionaire," Stiles mutters, and Derek frowns, having no idea what the hell that's supposed to mean.

"Look, the chicken's already cut up, you just need to fry it; preferably with less oil in the pan. And yeah, the bread rolls are a fail, but you've got tortillas in the freezer and you've got all of these salad things sliced already, so why not just go for Mexican instead?" Derek suggests.

"Oh, fuck, you're a genius. And I'm seriously sorry about your arm. Is it okay? Do you need antiseptic or something?" Stiles worries, glancing at the arm that Derek's kept behind his back while it's healing.

Derek raises an eyebrow and shows Stiles his arm, the skin pink and a little tender, but at least it's there now.

"Thank fuck," Stiles moans in relief. "Uh, could you do me a favour and fry the chicken? I'm not sure I should be near the hot frying pan with oil right now," he admits.

Derek just nods and moves over to the stove to cook the chicken properly.

The Sheriff comes home just as Stiles serves up the warmed tortillas, and Derek takes the browned chicken out of the pan. John seems surprised to see both of them in the kitchen, but just shrugs off his jacket and heads to the dining table to see what's for dinner this time. (He's had nearly every variation of a cheese toastie possible for two straight weeks; John can handle cheese and toast, beans and toast, mince and toast, eggs and toast, but honestly? He's hoping like hell that there's no damn toast tonight.)

Derek lingers at the door until Stiles tugs him over to the dining table, rolling his eyes.

"You helped cook, you're eating with us, dude," Stiles mutters.

The Mexican food is an absolute hit, and both Stiles and John find that the company's not bad either. Derek feels relaxed for the first time in a long time around humans - these two already know he's a werewolf, so he doesn't have to hide that part of himself - and he finds himself telling stories from his childhood, sneezing abruptly when he was too young to have control and shifting in the middle of the supermarket with his father. The story makes Stiles and John laugh, and Derek feels good about himself as well.

Stiles invites Derek over for dinner the next night too, and John readily agrees. Surprising himself, so does Derek.

...

They continue like this for a month, Stiles slowly learning the intricacies of cooking and baking from Derek until he's confident and secure enough in his ability to cook while Derek stands back and watches. He quit the cooking classes two days after Derek started helping him, and Stiles can't care that he's _quit_ something, not when this is so much better. Besides, with Derek helping him, he's able to go back to pack meetings again, and even Stiles notices the sense of relief that goes through the others when he turns up, which is nice.

One night, while he's sautéing mushrooms and checking on the pasta boiling in the saucepan, Stiles admits that he's trying to save money so his dad can pay the bills from Eichen House. (If Finstock thinks getting an arrow pulled out of his body is expensive, he's obviously never spent a week in a mental institution.) Derek doesn't know what to say to that; doesn't think there is anything he can say without it sounding insincere, so he just nods in return, and keeps concentrating on the tomato based sauce they're making from scratch.

That night, Derek thinks about Stiles' situation, pacing his loft until the early hours of the morning. He doesn't try to offer money because he knows Stiles, and Derek knows that the offer won't be accepted or appreciated in any way, shape or form (Stiles will think it's a slight, or a charity case, and Derek won't offend him like that).

Instead, he does small things that he knows will be accepted. He arrives at the Stilinski house in the mornings to drive Stiles to school; buys the next load of groceries, telling Stiles he knows what's fresh and better for both him and the Sheriff; he fixes Stiles' Jeep when he can hear it puttering along the road ten minutes before Stiles arrives to the loft for the next meeting; he bakes bread rolls, telling Stiles that he needs to test them and then take them home for his father because they're gluten free and he'll never know. Derek suspects that Stiles knows what he's doing, his eyes narrowing with each offer, but he just agrees, gets in the car, takes the food, and hands Derek the appropriate tools as he asks for them.

The shit hits the fan when Derek asks Stiles to help him wash the loft windows, telling him that he'll pay by the hour, and Stiles kinds of loses it. (Derek doesn't know that he's had a fairly crappy day at school with two pop quizzes that he's sure he's failed, all four jobs he's applied to have rejected him, and he went to the station only to find his father eating a bag of fat-saturated chips from the vending machine.) So Stiles breaks at Derek's offer, yelling and ranting that he doesn't want his goddamn fucking money, and storms out of the loft. It takes Stiles a few minutes to get past his rage and start the Jeep's ignition without his hands trembling. He forces himself to breathe deeply, feeling close to passing out, and then drives home.

Stiles feels even worse when he gets home, hates that he's yelled at Derek, but he can't bring himself to apologise, and he's too fucking exhausted to even think about the chicken drumsticks he'd planned on using for dinner. Instead, Stiles drags himself upstairs, turns his phone off because he's so not willing to read the crappy apology his father's most likely sent, and falls into bed to sleep for a few hours straight.

When Stiles wakes up, he hears his father downstairs talking with Derek, and the moon is out. He makes a small groan, tempted to go right back to sleep, but he's still pissed at both of them, and Stiles goes downstairs to deal with whatever they're conspiring against him.

"You cooked?" Stiles asks Derek, still a little sleep-stupid, frowning at the bowls of stew sitting on the dining table.

"Thought you'd appreciate food after your sleep," Derek replies with a nod, nudging a bowl closer to Stiles.

"Chicken stew with extra vegetables, so I've been told. It's damn good, if I do say so myself," John says with a grin.

"Still not happy with you, old man. How many bags of chips have you been eating at work?" Stiles asks, glowering. (He pauses long enough to eat some of the stew, and yeah, it tastes fucking delicious, but he's still angry, dammit!)

"It was my ... third bag since you've started cooking, Stiles. I'll admit I was weak in the first two weeks, but honestly, I was a little tired of toast. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. You made it different every night, which is difficult, I know... Today was the first bag since the chicken tortillas, I promise."

"Why today?"

"Because it was Chloe's birthday and I was damn proud for not eating four slices of cake like I might've once. I had a thin slice, and then ate half of that bag of chips and felt guilty - even before you came in and found me eating them. I donated the other half of the bag to Parrish, but I swear, he was looking at me like I'd kicked a kitten. You've twisted all of my staff, kid, and now they're all going on about my diet."

"Yeah, well they should've stopped you from eating those chips too. I'm not going to see you through a heart attack, okay?!"

"I know, kid," John says, reaching over to pat his hand. "Now, while we're being open about things, how long have you known about the bills for Eichen House?"

Stiles gulps a few mouthfuls of stew, avoiding answering for as long as possible. Derek and John both just wait and stare him down (it's totally freaky to see them doing that), and Stiles sighs.

"About a week before I started all of this cooking. I figured if we stopped eating so much takeout, we'd be able afford a payment plan of some sort, at least, and you'd stop getting notices sent to your work," Stiles mutters.

"It's a good thought, kid, it really is. But I'm the father here, and I'm the one who should be worrying about money, not you, okay?"

"Oh, fucking hell, that's a load of bullshit, Dad! We've been looking after each other ever since Mum died, and I'd do anything to keep that sort of relationship with you! We don't work like other families, we both know that, and I'm not ashamed about it! Besides, I'm not going to just sit back on my ass and watch you get into debt because of something that happened to me. I should've been able to deal with it in my own head. I was warned about opening that fucking door, and I still opened the damn thing! I'm not apologising for a goddamn thing, and I don't regret it either!"

John sighs, sets his spoon down, and moves to pull Stiles into a hug. He clings to his father's shirt firmly, angry and relieved and feeling god knows what else as he hugs him in return.

"All right, then. I know you're growing up, but I still look at you like that kid that dressed up in a cape for a month and ran around trying to fight gravity," John mutters, shaking his head a bit. "But you're old enough to know and learn what this is like, so... Finish your dinner, and afterwards, we'll go over money, expenses, and make up a budget, okay? Just promise me one thing, kid?" he adds, looking down at the top of Stiles' head.

"What?" Stiles mumbles against his arm.

"Never make me toast again," John groans.

"God, all right. Shut up about the toast already," Stiles says, rolling his eyes as he pulls away.

John just grins back at him and ruffles his hair. Stiles slides back into his seat and starts eating his stew again.

"So... You tried to fight gravity?" Derek asks, smiling when Stiles scowls at him.

"I've got home videos," John says, chuckling when Stiles fixes him with a glare.

They start discussing Stiles' childhood (and teenage) fixation on Batman, and he decides that he's really just going to concentrate on his dinner instead of partaking in that damning conversation. He sticks out until Derek admits his own fascination with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and how he'd dressed up as Michelangelo one Halloween (complete with his very own pizza box). John's laughing at the story of Laura dressing up as the rat Sensei and then bossing Derek around all night. Somewhere in all of it, Stiles finds Derek's hand and gives it a squeeze, trying to thank him and apologise all at once. By the look on Derek's face, it seems to have worked.

After dinner, Stiles grabs his laptop, and opens his guest account to organise the budget (there's a folder not-so-cleverly named porn on his regular login, and there's no way in hell that he's opening that account while his father and Derek are there; maybe just Derek a few months down the track though). Stiles is far more prone to prudence with money than his father, who deems the credit card necessary and is argued down by a werewolf and a teenager because borrowed money should never be necessary, except for emergencies.

Four hours, one spreadsheet, three arguments, and about a hundred monetary adjustments later, Stiles and John finally agree on what can be spent where. Derek's opinion is asked for by both men, and he adds in a small suggestion here and there to put money aside for unexpected health problems or repairs around the house, as well as a few dollars a week for a night off once a month. (The washing machine breaks down three months later, and they're both fucking glad for agreeing to the repairs money; they still have to use the credit card, but not for the whole lot, and that's a huge relief.)

Stiles takes Derek up on his window washing offer, and starts offering his services to neighbours, finding that cleaning's actually something he can do without too much hassle. So long as he doesn't trip over the bucket, it's easy to lose himself to the rhythm of cleaning and making things shine, and it's an easy job to do between all of the supernatural goings on in Beacon Hills. He pays rent (John hates that he does; he still thinks he should be able to afford his own mortgage without help from his son, but Stiles is old enough to pay for his own fuel, so he figures he can pay rent too), and still cooks dinner every night with Derek by his side.

The day the Eichen House bills are paid off, Stiles relents and uses the rainy day money to buy takeout for dinner. John barely makes it through half of his burger before he says it just doesn't taste the same without Stiles' special sauce (it's really not special, he just named it that way), and the curly fries taste weird fried instead of baked like he's used to now (and there's no roast carrots, what kind of meal is this?). Stiles is relieved, even though the money's kind of wasted on the meal, because he misses his own burger, carrots, and baked fries too. Derek eats the rest of their meals, but admits that it really isn't the same, and Stiles cooks up something quick for himself and his Dad instead.

John goes to bed early that night, claiming that he's tired; Stiles frowns after him, but figures he deserves the rest. Derek helps Stiles with the dishes, like he does every night, but tonight is different, a sort of electricity in the air as he backs Stiles up against the kitchen sink and kisses him. Stiles is surprised, but not stupid, and he holds Derek close, legs wrapping around his waist as he moves up to kiss him properly. He wants to drag Derek upstairs immediately, but he shakes his head.

"Not allowed in your bedroom for three months," Derek murmurs against his neck.

Which means Derek's discussed this with his father. _Oh, that's a little weird, but it's really not at the same time?_ They're all closer than they were a year ago, and Stiles can see Derek actually talking with his dad over this without it being so drastically awkward that he wants to crawl away in embarrassment. But still, he doesn't really know what to do with that information. Stiles drains the sink of water and pulls Derek out to the lounge room. He puts in a movie that he doesn't intend on watching, and sits himself in Derek's lap firmly. Stiles amuses himself by giving Derek hickeys and watching as they fade seconds later. Derek reciprocates, and Stiles discovers that he is the number one fan for Derek's mouth being _anywhere_ on his body. (Derek ties for first.)

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	51. Bel-esprit

Word: Bel-esprit

...

"You're really not funny, Stiles," Derek muttered, sighing heavily.

It was almost one in the morning, they'd just survived a vampire attack, and Stiles decided he had too much energy to go to sleep yet. Everyone else had been exhausted and left, so Derek was sitting down and trying to breathe while Stiles ran around to work off his excess energy. Now Stiles was trying to do a handstand on the edge of the Beacon Hills Town Square fountain, which Derek wasn't entirely pleased about because Stiles was a mess of flailing limbs at the best of times.

"Hey, take that back! I am a freaking bel-esprit!" Stiles called, grinning as he successfully completed his handstand, lifting himself higher, his arm muscles strained and clear through his shirt.

"Bel-esprit? Is that French or Latin?" Derek asked, distracted momentarily as Stiles' shirt slipped down his body.

Derek silently thanked gravity for her splendid work, his gaze drawn to the clenched muscles on Stiles' stomach. He'd grown so much stronger than Derek had ever thought possible. He still couldn't complete a run with Isaac and Scott, but Stiles now managed to keep a steady pace and finished the run without looking like he wanted to die.

"Both, actually, and it's meant to be English too, but I don't trust the originality of the English language... Want to bet I can walk on my hands?" he called.

"Not really, no."

"I bet I can," Stiles mused, as if Derek hadn't answered, and slowly turned his body so he could attempt to walk on his hands along the cool fountain tiles.

Derek watched as Stiles' ass tightened as he tried to keep his legs straight up in the air, and he stood to pace and redirect his thoughts to anything other than the tight material around Stiles' ass and groin. "You're going to hurt yourself," he called.

"I just survived a vampire attack, Der. I think I'll survive this," Stiles called. "But, uh, can you hold my legs?" he added.

Even from this distance, Derek could see how red Stiles' face was from all of his blood rushing down to his head. He let out a snarl and rushed forward as Stiles began to tip to one side, and firmly grabbed his legs with a sharply clawed hand before he could fall over.

"I remember it being much easier to get down from a handstand than this," Stiles admitted. "Help me up, Der?"

"Only if you agree not to do this again," Derek replied.

"Grass and soft surfaces only," Stiles agreed.

"And with someone present. You'd probably still find a way to knock yourself out," Derek muttered.

Stiles didn't reply straight away, and Derek looked down to see if he was still alive. He was breathing deeply, eyes closed, and it was only then that Derek realised he was stroking Stiles' ankle with his thumb. Derek moved a hand to Stiles' ribs, telling himself he needed to hold him up properly. Stiles let out a small moan as Derek's warm hand splayed against his cool skin.

"Let me up, Der," he said, starting to feel dizzy now.

Derek made a small noise of agreement and helped him through his handstand so he could stand up. Then he sat on the edge of the fountain and pulled Stiles down into his lap.

"Give yourself a few minutes before you stand up; your face is as red a tomato," Derek muttered, his hands lingering on the small of Stiles' back as he fixed his shirt.

"Mmm," Stiles murmured, resting his head on Derek's shoulder, swinging his legs up so he was sitting with his side against Derek's chest.

He didn't seem to mind, one of his hands resting on Stiles' ankles, as the other traced lazy circles on his back.

"So how do you feel about public PDAs?" Stiles asked, pressing a few light kisses to Derek's stubbled jawline.

"I think I can be persuaded," Derek murmured, his hands sliding higher up Stiles' spine and leg.

"Great, that's good. Very good. What about public sex?" he asked, sounding a bit breathless as Derek started raking his fingernails lightly down his back.

"How public are we talking?"

"Right now? No one around but us," Stiles said, dragging his lips along Derek's neck and nipping at his skin.

"We're across from the police station, Stiles. Not to mention there's at least four cameras, an ATM, and a store's internal camera that can see us very easily," Derek murmured, tilting Stiles face up to kiss him properly.

"Fuck it. Public indecency's a small price to pay."

Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles for that one. "I'm still a person of interest, remember? I get into trouble - especially with the Sheriff's son - then it's more than a fine and a slap on the wrist."

"Ohh, fuck me," Stiles groaned as Derek's hand slid out from under his shirt and moved to cup his ass, squeezing.

"You could've asked for that sooner; we would've worked off all of your excess energy by now," Derek teased.

"You fucker. You never told me that option was on the table. C'mon, let's get out of here before I decide exhibitionism's a thing for me," Stiles said, hopping out of Derek's lap and taking his hand to drag him to the Jeep.

Stiles muttered under his breath, nearly every other word was fuck or some version thereof. Derek sat perfectly still in his seat, only touching Stiles whenever he stopped at a red light or stop sign. Stiles realised this after the second red light when they were still fifteen minutes away from the loft. He put the Jeep in park, and pulled Derek over the gear shift to kiss him senseless. Then, with a determination that Derek usually only saw in Stiles when they were fighting something or someone in the pack was in trouble, Stiles gunned his Jeep and broke every road rule to get to the loft in under five minutes. (It would have taken three if not for the patrol car that Derek saw further up the road and warned Stiles about, making him slow down reluctantly.)

When they were parked in front of the loft, Stiles climbed into Derek's lap, not caring who was around or what cameras there might be, and kissed Derek until they were both breathless. He rolled his hips up against Derek's, and pressed a kiss to his lips lightly, tugging on Derek's hair so he could bite his jaw.

"If you don't get me upstairs in the next thirty seconds, I'm going to blow myself, and you don't get to watch **or** touch."

Derek licked his lips, tasting Stiles on his tongue, and nodded. It was a threat that they both knew Stiles could follow through on (his workout sessions had proved to show just how flexible Stiles could be, and auto fellatio was one of the first things he'd tried after this discovery), and he opened the Jeep door, putting Stiles over his shoulder.

Derek made it upstairs in twenty-nine seconds.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	52. Peregrine

Word: Peregrine

(Teen Wolf x His Dark Materials crossover.) Some scenes are taken directly from The Northern Lights; I don't own them.

The story itself is still a work in progress, but this would be the first chapter.

...

Character list:

Stiles is Lyra  
Isaac is Roger (kitchenhand and Stiles' friend)  
Scott is Billy (gyptian)  
Melissa "Ma" McCall is Ma Costa (gyptian)  
Rafe is Lord Asriel (but not Stiles' father - in my brainspace, he had a one-night stand with Ma McCall, but left for the North and doesn't know about his son, which is good news for everyone all around. He likes Stiles enough to not want to kill him)  
Kate Argent is Ms. Coulter  
Jennifer Blake is Serafina Pekkala  
Deaton is Farder Coram  
Iorek Byrnison and Lee Scoresby will stay the same  
Derek is Will

...

Stiles had lived in Oxford all of his life. His uncle, Lord Rafe Asriel, was an important man and rarely stayed in Oxford for long. As such, Stiles was raised by the Scholars or left to his own devices more often than not. His daemon, Lyra, was far more sensible than Stiles, and though he didn't always listen to her advice, she never said I told you so more than once.

His uncle was a lord, but also a man of science, and all of the Scholars of Oxford listened to him. They may not have agreed or liked everything he said, but they always listened. Stiles hid in the Retiring Room one evening his uncle was due to return - Lyra fluttering as a butterfly against his chest and telling him that they were going to be in so much trouble if they were caught - and peeked out from the wardrobe to watch the projected images and hear his uncle talk about Dust. The word seemed important, and Stiles took in every bit of information about it that he could. He saw that his uncle looked over to the wardrobe a few times, but he never said anything, even when Stiles was before him the next morning to provide his usual yearly update on his hobbies, activities, friends, and studies. Stiles knew that Dust was up in the North, and that a child had seemingly repelled it but it stuck to an adult. Despite his interest in the topic, no one mentioned Dust around him again, and Stiles didn't want to admit how he'd heard about it, so he couldn't ask.

Stiles and the other Oxford children (there were three: Isaac from the kitchens, Boyd, and Erica) were in the middle of a war with the townies, and while they didn't like each other at the best of times, there were times when they worked together against a common enemy. (No one liked the brick-burners, and Stiles was proud to say that he had the best aim when throwing stones and lumps of clay, though Lydia - a townie - came a close second. If she wasn't a townie and he had to loathe her simply on principle, Stiles might've called her a friend.) The other enemy were the gyptians, and Stiles had to admit that he didn't hate them like he did the brick-burners. He even made friends with one gyptian named Scott, after a lucky brick-burner hit him with a rock and Scott retaliated in his defense. Scott was a boy who never seemed to stop smiling, and who's mother treated Stiles like he was her own (and threatened him with the wooden spoon like she did Scott, too).

The next time Scott and the rest of the gyptians were in Oxford, Stiles convinced his friend to play Gobblers with him, and a few other children joined in, including Isaac, Lydia and her townie friend Jackson, and Erica and Boyd. Their game involved everyone hiding while Stiles and Lyra closed their eyes, counting, and trying to hunt them down, each person dying dramatically when he and Lyra pretended to gobble them up. Just like the real-life Gobblers did. Neither Scott nor Isaac seemed to like the game, both of their daemons trembling in fear when Lydia screeched.

"You're afraid of 'em, aren't ya?" Stiles asked, laughing.

"No! I ain't 'fraid of 'em!" Isaac said hotly.

"'Sides, they're not real!" Scott said, though he looked dubious.

"They are too! My Uncle saw 'em. He killed one just by lookin' at it. That's what I'm gonna do if I meet a Gobbler. Stare at it 'til it falls down dead, foaming at the mouth," Stiles said with a decisive nod.

"Yeah, right, Stiles. The only way you'd ever kill someone is by talkin' at them," Jackson said, rolling his eyes.

Stiles glared at the townie, silently promising himself that the next lump of clay he threw would be right at the smarmy blonde's head. Lyra let out a snarl, shifting to an ocelot. Jackson's daemon didn't seem impressed, the Siamese cat licking a paw delicately. Lyra leaped anyway, spurred on by Stiles' emotion, and by the time she reached the other daemon, it had shifted to a large lizard, hissing at her. They tumbled together on the ground, fighting each other the way their humans would never do, the others cheering them on.

"Jackson, I'm ready to go home," Lydia called over her shoulder, heading back towards the town.

Jackson looked between her and his daemon, obviously torn between the two, but let out a small snarl and hurried after her. His daemon wriggled out of Lyra's grip and bolted after them, Jackson bundling her up in his arms when she turned back into a cat, continuing after Lydia.

"Ha, he's scared too!" Stiles said, crouching down to look at Lyra's wounds.

She had a small gash on her side, but would be all right. Stiles grinned at her, proud of how valiantly she'd fought against Jackson's daemon (Jackson was a few months older and had more control over his daemon than Stiles currently did). He picked Lyra up carefully and said goodbye to Erica and Boyd, heading back to Oxford with Isaac and Scott.

...

Soon after, Scott and the gyptians left, Isaac had to concentrate on his duties in the kitchen, and Stiles was required to be taught by the Scholars before his Uncle's next arrival. A year passed before Stiles heard about the Gobblers again, and by that time he'd almost lost interest in them entirely. He was walking down the docks with Isaac beside him, thinking about how their war would progress this year and how the Oxford kids would win this time around, when he heard yelling from over by the gyptian boats. Ma McCall was yelling angrily at a horse-trader, a few gyptian kids standing to the side.

"What's goin' on?" Stiles asked one of the kids, frowning.

"Scott's gone missing," he was informed.

"Stiles! Have you seen Scott?" Ma called, her anger giving way to fear. Her peregrine falcon daemon was circling overhead, anxious and looking across the town for Scott.

"Not since the last time you were here," Stiles said, chewing on his bottom lip as Lyra darted over to the boxes stacked on the edge of the dock, as if Scott was hiding behind them. "C'mon, let's go look for him," he said, nudging Isaac.

"We'll help too," one the gyptian kids said, the others all nodding in agreement.

"Right. You three, check with townies. You four can handle the brick-burners. The rest of you split into twos and search the streets. Me and Isaac'll go on the roofs," Stiles directed.

"You let me know the minute you find him, y'hear me?" Ma called. "You find him and bring him back here so I can whoop his hide for scaring me like this," she added, barely a tremble to her voice.

Stiles nodded, though he didn't dare comment on the not-so-good incentive for Scott to return home, and he and the kids rushed off. Isaac had to leave for his kitchen duties before they'd even finished the third roof, and Stiles spent the rest of the afternoon searching with Lyra. She shifted between a hawk and a dog, using whichever form was easiest for the area. It was close to nightfall when Stiles finally admitted defeat, and he returned to Oxford without having found Scott. Lyra whimpered, snuggling in close to his chest, her ocelot's rapid heartbeat a rhythm against his.

It wasn't until later that night that Stiles realised he hadn't seen Isaac since that morning, and discovered that he hadn't turned up for his shift at the kitchen either. He remembered his uncle's talk about Dust and the North, concluding that the Gobblers had taken children there to hoard and eat them, or to help them repel Dust. It didn't matter what they'd been taken for, Stiles just knew that he had to go to the North to save his friends.

...

Ms. Argent was one of the most beautiful women that Stiles had ever seen. She wasn't like any of the scholars, or even like the other women from Dame Hannah's College, and Stiles adored her golden monkey daemon - it was just as sleek, pretty, and sophisticated as she was. She asked him if he'd like to accompany her to the North, and Stiles could do nothing but nod in agreement.

The Master of Oxford was an old man who had once been great. He moved slowly, and required help from the Butler most days just to get his coat on, but he was a kind man overall. Stiles was surprised to be confined to his room on the Master's orders the same evening as meeting Ms. Argent, and even more surprised to have the very same man visit him late at night; long after everyone else in Oxford had gone to bed. The Master gave him a velvet-wrapped golden watch, although on closer inspection, Stiles saw that it wasn't a watch at all. There were four hands, three dials, and the pictures along the edge of the alethiometer (what the Master called it) had nothing to do with time in the slightest. He told Stiles that it was one of only six in the world, his uncle had donated it to the university, and that it told the truth.

"It would best if you kept it secret, Stiles. Even from Ms. Argent," the Master said softly, hands trembling. On his shoulder, his raven fluttered her wings slightly in response.

"How do I use it?" Stiles asked, his head bent as he looked at the small pictures carefully.

"It is something you will have to work out for yourself, dear boy," the Master said, somewhat reluctantly.

There was a knock at the door, and then the Master was gone. Stiles barely had enough time to put the alethiometer back in the velvet pouch before his door opened and a servant helped him pack a battered suitcase. She worked quickly - too fast for Stiles to keep up, in fact - and he had no way of stowing the alethiometer in his suitcase, but rather had to keep it in his jacket before he was whisked away to Ms. Argent.

...

Ms. Argent's flat was expansive, expensive, and extremely beautiful. Gold seemed to touch every surface, and Stiles had never seen luxury like this before. Even the Retiring Room paled in comparison. Her flat was light and airy, wide South-facing windows letting in the sunlight and breeze, and everything seemed so delicate. Stiles worried that he might break something, but Ms. Argent didn't seem concerned. After he put his suitcase in his room and took off his coat, Ms. Argent took him shopping, buying seemingly everything in sight. Trousers, coats, suits, shirts, shoes that he could see his own reflection in, everything. He was bright-eyed and tired when they returned to the flat, but Stiles had to have a bath, wash, and change into his new clothes for a dinner with Ms. Argent's guests. By the end of the night, he felt like he'd been paraded around for every lady in town (and then some), and Stiles was exhausted.

"Where's the thing?" Lyra whispered before he could lay down.

Realising that she meant the alethiometer, Stiles went to his coat and took it out, returning to his soft bed to inspect it further. Thirty-six pictures in total, three dials that turned the three larger hands, and a fourth that swung about no matter how straight and still he held the alethiometer. His exhaustion faded as he played with the alethiometer, turning the dials carefully to three different pictures and watching as the fourth swung about. By the time he was tired again, Stiles still had no idea what the alethiometer was meant to do, but he still enjoyed playing with it nonetheless.

"D'you think we're meant to give it to Uncle Rafe?" he asked Lyra with a yawn.

"We're not meant to show it to Ms. Argent, why do you think Uncle Rafe would be any different?" Lyra asked, turning into a mouse to get closer to the alethiometer.

"Well, he did donate it to Oxford; maybe we're meant to give it back to him?"

"Stiles? I'm going to turn the light off now. Call if you need anything," Ms. Argent called out sweetly.

Stiles shoved the alethiometer under the blanket in case she tried to come into his room. "All right, Ms. Argent. Good night."

"Good night."

Stiles slept with the alethiometer under his pillow, just in case.

...

Ms. Argent taught Stiles in a gentler and not-as-sporadic way as the Scholars had, filling the gaps in his knowledge about simple things. He knew about anbaromagnetic charges, experimental theology, atoms and elementary particles, but didn't know that the Earth revolved around the sun. However, Stiles knew about Dust, and when Ms. Argent was telling him about electrons, he said proudly, "Yes, they're negatively charged particles. Sort of like Dust, except that Dust isn't charged."

As soon as he said that, Ms. Argent's daemon snapped his head up to look at him, his golden fur bristling. Ms. Argent laid a hand on her daemon's back.

"Dust? Where did you learn about that?" she asked.

"Just someone at Oxford. I think it was in passing; it sounded interesting so I couldn't help stopping to listen," he added.

"I see," Ms. Argent said.

"Is it right, what I heard? Did I get it wrong?" Stiles asked.

"I don't know. I'm sure you know more than I do. Now let's get back to electrons."

...

A few months later, the season changed, and Ms. Argent decided to hold a cocktail party. Lyra was getting restless, asking Stiles every night when they were planning on running away, that Ms. Argent was just keeping him busy to distract him from the North. Stiles had argued in a quiet voice vehemently in the beginning, but now he was beginning to wonder if Lyra wasn't right after all.

He wore a leather messenger bag to keep the alethiometer close, and on the evening of the cocktail party, Ms. Argent told him to take it off, despite his protests. She snapped at him harshly, Lyra becoming an ocelot in response. Ms. Argent's daemon jumped off the sofa, pinning Lyra firmly, the firm grip becoming painful as he twisted her ears in his paws. Lyra cried out in pain, and Stiles echoed the sound.

"Please, stop hurting us!"

"Do as I tell you then," she said.

"I promise!"

The monkey let go of Lyra, stepping away as though bored, and Lyra jumped into Stiles' arms, trembling as he stroked and eased her slowly.

"Now, Stiles," Ms. Argent said firmly.

Stiles turned and slammed into his bedroom. No sooner had the door banged shut was it open again, Ms. Argent standing barely a metre away.

"If you continue this coarse behaviour, we shall have a confrontation, Stiles; one that I **will** win. Take off that bag this instant; control that unpleasant expression; and never slam a door in **or** out of my hearing again. The first guests will be arriving shortly, and you will be perfect and delightful in every way. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Ms. Argent," Stiles replied.

"Good. Now change, and on your way back, check that we have enough ice for the drinks," Ms. Argent said over her shoulder as she left.

Stiles made it through the cocktail party, smiling as perfectly and delightfully as he could. He discovered that It was surprisingly easy to be so fake. Lyra was still shocked from earlier that evening, and spent the night being as small and unnoticeable as possible. Stiles saw her leave while he was talking with an elderly lady about his studies, but didn't think anything of it until she returned a few minutes later.

"The monkey was in our room! He knows about the alethiometer," Lyra warned.

Stiles could almost feel Ms. Argent's gaze burning on his back. He had to leave as soon as possible.

"Be a moth and keep an eye out. The second it's clear, let me know. We're leaving," he murmured, brushing his fingertips against her fur.

Lyra didn't argue, and while Ms. Argent was distracted by her guests, Stiles left the room to go to his bedroom. He put on his warmest clothes, scooped up the leftover coins that Ms. Argent had given to him earlier for sweets, and put on his leather bag with the alethiometer inside. As soon as Lyra gave the word, he ran.

...

He'd barely been out of the flat for thirty minutes, and someone had already hit on him after seeing he was alone (Stiles lied and said he was waiting for his father who was a murderer; the guy had blanched and ran), and now a group of people were throwing nets at him. He was eventually caught, their daemons working to drive him and Lyra in a corner, and it wasn't long before Stiles came face to face with his captors. The gyptians recognised him easily, taking him to Ma McCall, where Stiles told her everything. She gave him a mug of warm milk, and Stiles fell asleep with Lyra curled up in his arms. The gyptians headed North that very next morning; no one was keeping Ma McCall from her son.

Stiles got used to life on the gyptian boats, his speech and mannerisms copying theirs as the weeks passed, and Lyra spent a lot of time flying or running around the deck with him. When he wasn't helping the gyptians, Stiles spent most of his time in his small bunk using the alethiometer. Hours would pass without him realising it, his eyes focused on the symbols and the hands. It was becoming clearer every day, and there were times when Stiles was almost positive that he knew something, that it was right there on the tip of his tongue if only he could put the words together.

He continued practising until one day it just seemed to click and everything suddenly made sense. The fourth hand swung to pictures, but it wasn't as random as Stiles first thought. He grinned, testing his theory out a few times, switching the three bigger hands between pictures as he focused on finding the answer for each question. It was kind of like sinking down to the right level, focusing not only on the three pictures with the question, but the fourth one providing the answer as well, and making sure that he interpreted it correctly. Ma McCall was impressed and told him to keep practising, that they might need his skill sooner rather than later.

Not all of the gyptians were as impressed. Ma McCall wasn't the only gyptian that had lost a child to the Gobblers, and they had banded together to get their children back. Deaton, one of the gyptian leaders from another clan, asked for a demonstration of Stiles' skill. When Stiles returned with the correct twigs from the witch's spray five minutes later, Deaton finally agreed to contact his witch friend to help them.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	53. Grabble

Word: Grabble

...

"You've come to the wrong town, boys. I'm giving you a choice here: leave and return when you've got permission to be in Beacon Hills, or fight me for your right to be here."

The Alpha's growl was enough of an answer, red eyes narrowed at being challenged by a human. Stiles just smirked in response. He grabbled in his bag, his eyes closed as he tried to feel around for the elusive object. He grinned and opened his eyes as his fingers brushed against what he was looking for. His eyes and hands glowed white as he pulled the long wooden staff out of his bag. (He didn't care that Scott said he looked like Mary Poppins, Stiles thought he looked like a wizard, and that's all that mattered.)

"All right, you've chosen your game. Now select your player," Stiles said, smirking.

He was freaking Neo, Rafiki, and Bruce Lee rolled into one right now, and he wasn't going down without one of the most epic fights in history.

The werewolves didn't seem to be as threatened by him as they should be, the Alpha moving forward with an angry snarl. He was able to stop the Alpha with his staff, hands glowing to help increase his strength, and as the wood was deemed un-freaking-breakable by Deaton himself, he didn't have to worry about the staff warping at all. Stiles pushed the Alpha back just enough to get an arm up in the air, a circle of mountain ash appearing around them. Now it was a fair fight: one Alpha werewolf versus one emissary-in-training with the victor the last one was standing. _Fight!_

The Alpha realised it was trapped and growled. The sound started low, a feeling rising until it let out a roar worthy of an Alpha. Stiles just grinned as the sound reverberated through the preserve's forest. Yeah, he realised that the nogitsune had kind of fucked him up, because he now _got off_ on that fucking sound. It was a sound of helplessness, not power, and he knew just how to bring it all the way back down again. He let out a laugh that held even more weight than the Alpha's roar.

Outside of the circle, the other three wolves in this Alpha's pack were making a cacophony of noise, growls and whimpers to whines and snarls. Stiles didn't care. He had all of his focus on the Alpha, and that's all that mattered.

"My pack's going to be here soon, so let's get this started, big guy," Stiles said, nodding his head for the Alpha to attack again.

The Alpha barely waited for Stiles to finish talking, as if he thought he could be distracted by such a simplistic tactic. He'd been training with the McCall pack for five-odd years now, and something so routine as that wasn't going to do a thing to someone like Stiles. He batted the wolf away with his staff, his lip curling up in to a smirk when it hit against the mountain ash barrier with a bright flash of light. It was Stiles' turn for attack now, and just because this Alpha fought like a newborn cub, he wasn't going to hold back.

Moving forward, Stiles' eyes glowed again and in his mind's eye he imagined the wolf being in excruciating pain. He touched his staff to the wolf's side and it immediately started writhing, yelping and growling, trying to bite its own leg.

"Stiles!" Scott roared from behind him.

Lazy smirk on his face, Stiles turned on his heel and leaned against his staff. "Yeah, boss?"

"Let him go. They're just passing through."

"They didn't get permission," Stiles replied, head cocked to the side as he watched Scott.

"Stiles is right. We've made it obvious who the forest belongs to, Scott, and everyone knows to seek permission before crossing through another's land while shifted," Derek said, his voice clear enough for everyone to hear over the Alpha's whimpering.

"Stiles, undo the spell on the Alpha," Scott said firmly.

"Sure thing, boss," Stiles said, hitting his staff on the forest floor with a cracking sound.

Behind him the wolf panted fiercely, a low menacing growl reverberating low in its throat. Stiles ignored the wolf now that his pack had arrived and stepped forward, sweeping the mountain ash away with the toe of his sneakers. Scott and Derek started walking down the small hill to start the traditional greeting process that the wolf had ignored. There was a howl from Isaac, distracting Scott for a moment as he answered in kind. Behind Stiles, the wolf's noise got louder and it leapt for him, snarling in pure rage now. Derek responded before Scott or Stiles could, running forward, moving Stiles out of harm's way, claws formed and plunged deep into the Alpha's stomach immediately. As soon as their link was broken with their pack leader, the other three wolves left the preserve as fast as possible, tails between their legs.

Stiles stood up and brushed himself off, sighing when he saw what had happened. He could smell the blood, watched as it dripped off of Derek's wrist slowly, and turned to Scott with a smirk as he **felt** Derek's Alpha powers return.

"Should've let me deal with them," Stiles sing-songed, his smirk twisting into something feral.

Derek dropped the lifeless wolf to the floor and moved over to Stiles fluidly. Before Scott could stop them, Stiles had bared his neck and submitted to Derek as Alpha. Derek didn't hesitate, lowering his mouth and biting him to accept his submission.

Scott's eyes widened as he felt his control over Stiles lessening, and he fumbled for his phone to call Deaton. _This was never meant to happen_. They had all seen that Stiles had _changed_ after the nogitsune and could never again be the same. His power as a spark grew so overwhelmingly fast that it looked like it was killing him, so Scott and Deaton decided that he needed to be controlled. Deaton had held Stiles down, making him submit to Scott as his Alpha. Stiles hadn't been happy, but Scott thought he would forgive him after everything they had been through together. It had been a necessary evil in order to keep Stiles and his power as a spark under control.

"You really thought you could keep **me** under **your** control, Scotty? I'm not a monster to be kept on a leash," Stiles snarled.

Deaton's phone rang out, and Scott dropped his phone to the ground, turning and running. Behind him, Stiles just laughed and Derek ran after him. Scott ran into Isaac, the other wolf grabbing him and heading to a trail that had his thick scent on it. Isaac hid with Scott in the overhanging over the forest trees (Stiles probably would've compared them to the hobbits hiding in The Lord of the Rings), keeping his body covering Scott's until they both heard Derek run past.

"What happened?" Isaac asked softly, sitting up.

"They... they killed them, and Stiles... Oh, god. Stiles, he's... he submitted to Derek. Derek's an Alpha again," Scott whispered, horrified.

"You mean it _worked?_" Isaac asked, grinning brightly. "Sorry, Scott. I love you like a brother, but Derek... Derek's always been my Alpha," he said, stepping out from the overhanging roots and letting a howl loose.

Scott's eyes widened and he ran. He kept running even after he broke free of the preserve, heading for the veterinary clinic to Deaton. He would be able to help. Scott stopped short on seeing the flashing lights outside of his work, and right on cue, a stretcher was wheeled out with a body bag on top of it. He could smell Deaton and the blood, hear the animals going berserk inside the clinic, and Scott's stomach turned. The medics wheeling the stretcher looked pale and were bloody, as if they'd been forced to step in multiple pools of blood before they could reach the body. Scott was so focused on Deaton that he didn't hear Derek come up to him until his hand was placed on his shoulder firmly. He paled, looking up at the other Alpha in pure fear.

"Was... was this you?" Scott asked, swallowing visibly.

Derek nodded. "Deaton would have been in Stiles' way, and we couldn't have that."

"In _Stiles'_ way?"

"Of course. What do you think he's been planning ever since you _caged_ him without his consent? The crazy thing is he probably would've submitted if you asked, but you _forced_ it on him, Scott. You took away his choice in a way the nogitsune never had. The nogitsune controlled him for less than a month, and you've had Stiles under yours for _three **years**_. Do you see the problem with that, Scott?"

"It was for his own protection! He wasn't safe with his powers like that! He couldn't leave Beacon Hills, not like that. His powers were..."

"_Being controlled_. He had finally worked out how to get them under control the day he went to see you and Deaton; I bet you never knew that, did you?" Derek asked, shaking his head.

"He... he never said."

"Because you never let him. You didn't think it was weird how easily his powers came to him the day after he was forced to submit to you? Deaton even said it was remarkable how fast it had been controlled."

"I didn't think... I mean, Deaton said it was my power as True Alpha..."

"Obviously not, Scotty," Stiles said from behind them, grinning.

Isaac stood behind him, looking awed at what Stiles and Derek had achieved. Before Scott could try to run (_**why** had he let himself be distracted? Why hadn't he run away already?_), Stiles stepped forward and placed a lei of mistletoe-thread and wolfsbane flowers around his neck, the purple flowers stark against his white shirt. Scott felt himself growing weak, unable to control anything, and he would have fallen to his knees if it wasn't for Derek's hand on his shoulder. Scott looked to Isaac for help, but he was still under his Alpha's thrall and couldn't help even if he wanted to.

"This can be really simple, Scott; you either submit and suffer through your own controlling collar until I decide otherwise, or we kill you," Stiles said, his voice firm and eyes cold. "Don't look so down, Scotty. It's not that bad. The collar will just keep your power under control, it will keep you safe, it will keep you in Beacon Hills. Just like you did with me. C'mon, you can be my pet, and we'll have such great fun. I'll even tell you riddles. In fact, I've got one for you now," Stiles said, his grin twisting into something that not even the nogitsune could pull off.

"_The maker makes it, but does not use it._  
_The buyer buys it, but does not need it._  
_The one who does need it doesn't know it._  
_What is it?_"

Scott didn't know the answer, but he had a very bad feeling that if he gave Stiles the wrong reply, he would find out first-hand.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!

(The answer is _coffin_)


	54. Shoat

Word: Shoat

Note: I'd like to point out that 'shoat' has two meanings: a young weaned pig, or a geep (cross between a goat and sheep). 'Cause they're _totally_ the same animal!

...

"Derek? Why do you have a pig in your loft?" Stiles called, closing the loft door firmly before the young pig could escape. "Are you planning on eating it on the next full moon? 'Cause I'm taking it away from you if that's the case, _you monster!_ " he added, grinning as he imitated the gingerbread man from Shrek.

"There's farm land out at my house, I've decided to actually put it to use. Since everyone can control themselves on the full moon now, it should survive."

"I'm being put on pig guarding duty, aren't I?" Stiles asked with a heavy sigh. "So, what's it's name?"

"What? The pig?" Derek asked, finally coming downstairs, frowning at Stiles.

"Yeah, the living creature that's in your home; what have you called it?"

It was obvious that Derek hadn't named it, or even thought to call it anything, and Stiles shook his head. _Of course_ Derek hasn't named his first official pet anything. (And seriously, why a pig?)

"Shoat," Derek said eventually, shrugging.

"You named your pig Pig?" Stiles deadpanned.

"You - and Lydia - are the only two that would know that, so yes. Now, can you help me take Shoat to the property or not?"

"Tell me why you have a pig in the first place, Derek. I mean, I'd get a dog, a cat, maybe even an iguana, but a _pig?_ Really?"

Derek sighed, looking down at the small creature that was snuffling against his ankles. "She fell out of one of the animal transportation trucks; obviously too small to be held in properly. I found her wandering on the side of the road, and it was either take her home with me or to the butcher."

By the stern set of his jaw, and the folded arms over his chest, it was obvious that Derek wasn't going to take Shoat to the butcher any time soon. Not that Stiles would have made him do that anyway.

"Fine. You drive; I'll research how to actually look after a pig. C'mon, Shoat, you little cutie, your daddy's going to show you your new home," Stiles called, and Shoat made another snuffling noise, following after him obediently. "Thank god you don't have to train her. _How to train your pig_; probably _not_ a box office sensation."

Derek snorted his laughter and followed Stiles out, scooping up the small pig and cradling her against his chest. He didn't want her to get tired before they even arrived to his house. Shoat made a soft noise and actually snuggled in closer. (Stiles took a photo before Derek could protest and immediately saved it as his phone's wallpaper.)

Derek drove to his old property while Stiles kept an eye on Shoat and called out random pig facts he found online.

"Pigs can be trained like dogs can, and they even sleep indoors. Aww, look at this little pig in a nest of blankets! It's so _cute!_ We _have_ to stop at a pet store to buy some things for Shoat! Right now." Stiles demanded.

Derek couldn't say no, and soon discovered that 'some things' turned very quickly into 'the whole damn store'. Derek found himself taking out the cat scratching post from the basket, raising his eyebrow at Stiles' sheepish expression.

"I thought it looked useful? Never mind, look at this fluffy bed! It's so soft and fluffy, Shoat's gonna love it!"

Shoat did love it, and Stiles took close to a hundred photos of her sleeping in her brand new bed. Derek couldn't bring himself to stop Stiles from taking photos, and handed him his own phone as well. Stiles brightened at the offered phone and took lots of photos, telling him that he was sending a bunch to Cora and Peter. And then everyone else they knew, including Chris.

Everyone took to Shoat immediately, even the Sheriff, and Stiles was surprised to come home later that night to find the bacon in the bin. They didn't discuss it, but it wasn't difficult to start getting his father to eat fewer pig-related products after he met Shoat.

Stiles was put on pig guarding duty for the first full moon, as he had predicted. The werewolves didn't even come near the mountain ash barrier he'd made. Stiles played Queen on his laptop (even Derek could see that Shoat actually liked the music, almost as much as she liked Stiles' belly rubs), and Shoat slept through the night on her bed peacefully without a single worry.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	55. Hypocorism

Word: Hypocorism

...

"Oh, _Derek_," Stiles sing-songed as he entered their bedroom.

Derek raised an eyebrow in question, but didn't look away from his book.

"I'm not having a conversation with your eyebrows, Der-bear. C'mon, look up."

The hypocorism made him wince, and Derek refused to look up out of pure spite.

"Derek - Derek - Derek - Derek - Derek - Derek. Dude, I haven't taken my Adderall today, I can do this for _hours_," Stiles pointed out. "Derek - Derek - Derek - Derek - "

"What?!" he snapped, finally looking up.

His annoyance faded immediately on seeing Stiles wearing nothing but a pair of lacy blue knickers.

"Why are you wearing those?" Derek asked, mouth dry. He tried to remember if they had an anniversary or special occasion to warrant the lace and came up blank. (Another part of Derek came up _hard_, but with Stiles in lacy underwear, could you blame him?)

"'Cause the blue's pretty," Stiles said. "Now, are you going to read your book, or fuck me?"

Derek had forgotten about his book the moment he'd looked up, and set it aside now, pulling Stiles onto the bed with him.

"Wise decision, Der-bear," Stiles murmured against his lips, grinning broadly.

Derek agreed completely.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	56. Writhen

Word: Writhen

...

Writhen roots twisted their way out of the ground, making them perfect for Stiles to trip over and fall flat on his face. Sure, the trees looked pretty and kinda supernatural all twirled up like that, but for every day running for your life? They _totally_ sucked.

"Don't say a thing, Derek," Stiles grumbled, brushing the leaves and dirt off his body.

Derek just smirked and offered Stiles his hand to help him up. Grinning up at him brightly, he took the offered hand, Derek pulling him to his feet with no effort at all. Stiles wasn't expecting to be lifted quite that easily (_c'mon, he'd bulked up over summer, dammit!_), and windmilled his arms, careening into Derek and knocking them both over.

"If you wanted to top, you just had to ask," Derek snickered.

Stiles' eyes widened and he licked his lips quickly. "Yes. Let's do that. Right now. Or somewhere with less leaves and twigs," he amended.

"What about the hag?"

"Scott 'n the others will deal with her; they already said as much. Come on, sex. Now," Stiles said, getting up and tugging Derek to his feet.

They both knew that Derek could have resisted him easily, but he let Stiles lead him back to the car without protest. Stiles decided that those twisted trees weren't so bad after all.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	57. Tautology

Word: Tautology

...

"I'm gonna kill him 'til he's dead! I literally cannot take it any more!"

"Stiles, calm down, it's not that bad."

"Finstock likes you, Scott, and besides, you don't get the worst of it. You're off on the field playing lacrosse with the team, and I'm stuck on the bench listen to his tautology all night long! I'm going to shove my crosse down his throat just so I don't have to hear him talk again."

"Coming from you, Stilinski, that's definitely saying something," Derek muttered, looking up from his book and over to them.

"Shut up, Derek; Scott and I were having a private conversation," Stiles snapped.

"In the middle of a pack meeting," Derek pointed out, raising his eyebrow.

Stiles turned, scowling at him. "_What_ pack meeting? There is _no meeting_. In fact, there's_ no_ _pack_. Where's Lydia, or Kira, or Liam? Hell, where's Peter? Y'know, actual supernatural beings who **are** a part of the pack?" Stiles asked, looking between Derek and Scott.

"Lydia's with Parrish, Kira's getting ready for our date tonight, Liam's out with Mason, and Peter's with Malia. Which is probably not a good thing," Scott admitted, frowning.

"Oh great, just great. You just had to go and let her spend time with Peter, didn't you?! It's bad enough she's fucking tearing up my back at night, but after spending time with him? I'll be lucky to wake up in the morning," Stiles muttered.

"Tearing up your back?" Derek echoed, frowning as he looked at Stiles intently.

"You didn't tell Derek?" Stiles asked, looking at Scott.

"No. It's your information to tell. Besides, I didn't want to be the one to tell Derek that Malia's sneaking into your room at night," Scott added.

"Uh, what?" Stiles asked in confusion.

Scott's eyes widened and he shook his head quickly, and Derek looked away entirely, his ears turning pink.

"I... have to go. Kira's probably ready for our date," Scott said, high tailing it out of the loft before either one could answer.

"What's Scott mean by that, Derek?" Stiles demanded.

"Nothing. Let me see your back. What's that coyote doing to you?" Derek muttered, manhandling Stiles until he could bare his back and see the numerous scratches. "Fuck."

Okay, Stiles knew it was bad - his back stung so much that he'd had to switch to a messenger bag because he couldn't risk his backpack irritating it - but for Derek to swear? Now he knew it was truly bad.

"Uh, she's not going to be able to turn me like that, is she?" Stiles asked, concerned enough now to voice one of his numerous worries.

"No, she won't be able to. You should tell Malia to stop visiting; you need to heal your back and you need to rest. You look like shit, Stiles."

"Gee, thanks, Derek. Glad we had this chat."

"I'm not saying it to be mean, Stiles, I'm simply stating a fact. You look like you haven't had a decent sleep in weeks."

Stiles sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Try months, big guy. You getting kidnapped actually had me worried, you know."

Derek nodded briefly, then rested both of his hands on Stiles' back, the younger man starting in surprise.

"What're you do- oohh, don't stop. Ever. Fuck, that feels good," Stiles groaned, endorphins rushing through him as Derek leeched his pain.

Derek leeched Stiles' pain for a good fifteen minutes, continuing until Stiles was a pliable mess of bones and skin, swaying on his feet precariously. Derek held Stiles up carefully, then picked him up entirely when Stiles didn't seem to want to move.

"Think you overdid it, big guy," Stiles slurred, licking his lips and blinking slowly. "S'good though. Thanks," he murmured.

Derek placed Stiles on the bed carefully, moving to take his shoes off before helping him get under the blankets. Stiles fell asleep immediately.

Stiles woke up a few hours later, still feeling drowsy. Something had woken him up, and it took Stiles a moment to realise that he was still in Derek's bed, and he could hear growls coming from beyond the bedroom. Malia was out there growling at Derek - Stiles recognised her growl easily after all of the times it had been directed at him - and Derek was growling right back at her, it seemed.

"You're not going in there, Malia. Go home," Derek snapped.

"No! Stiles is mine, and I want to see him!"

"He's not yours, you little scavenger. He's definitely not yours to scratch up like a toy, and you've exhausted him to the point where he's not even following through on his questions like usual. You're draining him, Malia, and it's going to kill him."

"He's mine," Malia snarled.

Derek sighed so loudly that Stiles could hear it as plain as day. He was obviously trying to think of a way to get rid of Malia since his (surprisingly reasonable, actually, Stiles though) argument didn't seem to be working.

"No Malia, _he's mine_," Derek said, snarling so deeply and fiercely that Stiles actually moved to sit up, worried that a fight would break out between them.

Malia didn't fight though, instead she whimpered and if the sound of the door opening meant anything, ran straight out of the loft.

Derek closed the door behind her and went to his bedroom. He'd heard Stiles wake up, but Malia had been too caught up in her arguing to hear it for herself, and Derek worried about what Stiles had heard. He'd tried to be careful with his words, but that little werecoyote made his blood boil; imagine, scratching up Stiles like he was nothing more than a scratching post, and her saying that Stiles was _hers_ when Stiles sure as hell had made it clear that he didn't belong to anyone.

"You 'kay, Der?" Stiles asked, yawning as he settled back on the bed again.

"Fine. How are you feeling?" Derek asked, standing beside the bed and trying to take Stiles' form in with a professional eye (even though he had little to no idea what he was doing, Derek could smell a fever, and that had to count for something, right?).

"Need more of your hand thing. Sleep's good," Stiles mumbled.

Derek knew that if Stiles was running at 100% (or, since it was Stiles, more like 250% on an average day), he never would have let the conversation go without analysing and questioning everything that had been said. The fact that he'd let this afternoon's admission from Scott slide with barely two questions demonstrated just how exhausted Stiles was. He sat beside Stiles and began to leech his pain again, watching as his eyes drooped and closed. Stiles tugged Derek onto the bed beside him, and Derek couldn't bring himself not to lie down there beside him. It was a moment of weakness, but he was still leeching Stiles' pain, and the proximity helped. Honest.

"Thanks, Der-bear," Stiles mumbled, sleep claiming him a few seconds later.

It was the second time Stiles had thanked him that day, and depressingly, Derek realised it was the second time he'd been thanked for anything that year. He stayed awake by Stiles' side and made sure that he continued to sleep peacefully through the night without interruption.

...

The next day, Stiles woke up to find a pile of clothes at the end of the bed and Derek gone. He'd woken up later than he usually did (6am starts were becoming the norm thanks to a certain visitor), and Stiles had to run around, even forgoing a shower in his rush to get to school.

"What's wrong?" Stiles hissed at Scott, seeing him staring at him for the better part of attendance.

"You smell."

"Geez, Scott, could you be more blunt about it? I had to skip a shower this morning, turn off your wolf senses for a bit or something," Stiles muttered with a half-hearted glare.

"No, not that. Well, not entirely that," Scott amended, wrinkling his nose briefly. "You smell like Derek. Like full on," he added.

"Slept in his bed last night," Stiles said, shrugging.

He didn't mention that Derek had slept in the bed with him at his own insistence, because that was a conversation Stiles _really_ didn't want to be having right now. Not with Scott, at least.

Malia walked into the classroom, late and bringing attention to herself even more when she stopped abruptly in the doorway and just stared at Stiles. He frowned and motioned for her to come inside, but Mr. Yukimura had already noticed, and called Malia's name.

"Malia? Take a seat. Now, please," he added firmly when she didn't move.

Malia made a small whimpering noise - similar to the one she'd made last night, Stiles realised - and sat perched on the edge of her usual seat beside Stiles. She was tense and looked ready to run if anyone so much as sneezed, and Stiles frowned at her reaction.

"Hey, Malia. You okay?" Stiles asked softly, reaching out for her arm.

She pulled away abruptly, eyes wide as saucers, and gulped visibly. "Fine. Don't... Please, I don't want to upset - "

"Stiles, would you like to share your conversation with the rest of the class?" Mr. Yukimura threatened.

(Seriously, that was kind of a dumb threat for Mr. Yukimura to make, especially considering what Stiles knew about the supernatural happenings in Beacon Hills, not to mention Kira and Noshiko.)

"Just discussing World War II, Mr. Yukimura," Stiles answered.

Mr. Yuimura frowned at him disapprovingly, Scott stiffened, Lydia glowered, and Kira shook her head at him. Malia just looked confused.

(Okay, fine, he wasn't allowed to make jokes about it then.)

The bell for first period rang and before Stiles could question her further, Malia was out of the door before the bell finished ringing.

...

Stiles ended up at Derek's loft again that afternoon, and he didn't even wait for Derek to reply to his greeting before launching into questions about Malia's behaviour, and Scott's weird faces over the course of the day.

"Are you actually asking me questions, or are you using me as a sounding board, Stiles?" Derek asked, interrupting his rant about scents and showers, and with good reason since he was blushing pink again.

"Both?" Stiles offered weakly.

Derek rolled his eyes and motioned for Stiles to continue talking. Thankfully, Stiles chose a different topic. Derek managed to steer Stiles over to the lounge, and somehow got him started on his homework while he read on the other end of the lounge. Stiles made noise while he studied, clicking his pen, popping the highlighter lids, tapping his foot, and drumming his fingers, and while it was the kind of noise that most people loathed and told him off for within seconds, Derek didn't complain.

A few hours later, Stiles finished his homework for the night and frowned, realising that he'd probably outstayed his welcome big time, and Derek still hadn't thrown him out. As his father was working late again, Stiles ended up staying for dinner and sleeping in Derek's bed again, pulling Derek onto the mattress with him as he leeched his near-constant pain.

Another night passed without being woken up in the middle of his slumber to be faced with a scratchy werecoyote. Again, Stiles woke up to a pile of clothes at the end of the bed and Derek gone. He made sure to shower that morning, scrubbing his skin extra hard for Scott's delicate nose, and then headed to school. Despite the shower, both Scott and Malia were still weird around him, and to top it all off, now Liam was looking at him weird too.

Stiles had lacrosse practice that afternoon, the first with Kira as goalie (Scott was grinning his head off, looking so proud of his fox girlfriend; he didn't even stop smiling when she caught the balls he threw at the net). Stiles actually managed to get the ball closer to the goal today, and he didn't feel as bad as he usually did after running. (He still didn't feel _great_, but it was an improvement on almost puking last month.)

Without really thinking about it, Stiles left lacrosse practice and went straight to the loft. Derek didn't seem annoyed at his presence, and again, managed to get Stiles studying after he'd had a general fifteen minute rant about his day. He finished his homework, cooked dinner for them (Derek was being nice to him and while that was weird enough in and of itself, Stiles figured he could cook in return for not being thrown out of the loft), and fell asleep on Derek's bed with Derek curled up around him again.

It continued to happen, until one day Stiles realised that he actually hadn't seen his father in a whole week because he'd spent all of his time at Derek's loft or with Derek. He went home that afternoon, cooked a healthy meal for his dad because god knew what he'd been eating in the last week, and was woken up in the middle of the night by a werewolf crawling into his bed. He knew it was Derek because he immediately started leeching his pain, and there was no one that could do brooding in the dark quite like Derek.

"In the morning, you're telling me what Scott meant about that thing, all right?" Stiles muttered. "And then you're telling me why Malia's acting weird. And why Liam keeps referring to me and you as me-and-you."

"All right. Now go to sleep," Derek murmured in return, face buried against the crook of Stiles' neck.

He fell asleep easily, and in the morning, for the first time in months, Stiles woke up to find Derek still in bed beside him.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


	58. Balmy

Word: Balmy

Warning: pure fluff and sweetness. You may need a dentist after this.

...

The season is finally changing from winter to spring, and it's actually balmy outside. Compared to the last few weeks with winter struggling to make itself known with a cold snap and freezing the ground, the day almost feels like it's already the middle of spring. Stiles can't wait to actually go outside in a t-shirt, and not need a billion sweaters to feel warm. He's got the Jeep packed for the day, and now he's just waiting for Derek to be ready.

"Derek, if you're not out here in the next ten seconds, I'm going to..."

"What?" Derek asks from the doorway, pulling on his short-slleve Henley and tugging the hem down over his jeans.

"No idea; you never let me finish my threats," Stiles admits, shrugging.

"I can go back into the bedroom if you need a minute?" Derek offers with a grin.

"Oh, shut up. And _hurry up_, it's almost midday and we haven't done anything!"

"Oh, really? So that blow job I gave you earlier is us not doing anything?" Derek asks, eyebrow raised.

"You know what I mean! We haven't done anything _outside_. Come on, I need sunshine," Stiles groans, grabbing Derek's hand and tugging him across the doorway.

Stiles barely lets Derek lock up the loft before he tugs him over to the elevator and, after a fifteen second delay as they go down to the ground floor, out of the building altogether.

It seems as though the spring weather has brought out Stiles' ability to talk even more because he spends the whole car trip talking about everything and anything. Derek relaxes and just listens to Stiles, letting the words wash over him and answering when he needs to. The cold weather made Stiles quieter than usual, and it's nice to see him so animated and talkative again. Derek holds back a grin when he sees that Stiles wants to talk with his hands, but they're stuck at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel, an enforced habit from his father.

"You get the things out of the trunk, I'll find a good spot!" Stiles says as soon as the ignition is off, gracelessly clambering out of the Jeep to run to the park.

Derek watches after him fondly before getting out to grab the bag, picnic basket, and blanket that Stiles packed for their day out. He can smell a mix of food in the basket, including his favourite: chicken, cheese, bacon, and mayonnaise sandwiches, and Derek grins as he tugs the bag onto his shoulder, closing the Jeep before going to look for Stiles. It doesn't take long to find him, he's got a shady spot under a tree, and is waving to Derek like an idiot.

"It's the best spot in the park; away from the noisy playground, and not directly in the sun so I don't turn into a human lobster, and it's on the side without the ants," Stiles says proudly, opening up the blanket on the ground.

"Your spot-choosing skills are amazing, Stiles. I don't know what I would've done without you," Derek deadpans, and Stiles just laughs in response.

"You'd probably still be in the loft, you hermit!" Stiles says, taking the bag and basket from Derek and setting them down on top of the blanket. "You didn't smell our lunch, did you?"

"Not a thing," Derek lies.

Stiles doesn't look like he believes him. He opens the bag and pulls out a mess of string and plastic, and Derek raises his eyebrows because, _seriously, a kite?!_

"Don't look at me like that, Der-bear; the weather and wind's perfect for kite flying," Stiles says, handing the kite to Derek to untangle.

Derek sighs and sits on the blanket, working carefully to untangle the string as Stiles does the same thing with the second kite. By the time the kites are untangled and ready to fly, the wind's died down and Stiles mutters about Murphy's law with a pout.

"Why don't we eat while we're waiting for the wind to pick up again?" Derek suggests.

Stiles perks up and makes a show of pulling out the sandwiches before he presents them to Derek, grinning broadly. Derek thanks him earnestly, then kisses him to add to the thanks, and promptly scoffs down two sandwiches before Stiles can even finish his first.

"You're gonna get a stomach ache if you don't slow down, Der-bear," Stiles says around a mouthful of food.

"Mmm-hmm, you going to finish that?" Derek asks, nodding to the rest of the sandwich in his hands.

Stiles glares and holds his sandwich close. "My sammich."

Derek snorts and shakes his head, leaning back against the tree to eat his third sandwich, waiting for Stiles to finish.

"Wind's picked up, Derek! Come on, grab the kites!" Stiles calls, shoving the uneaten half of his sandwich back into the container before running out into the sun.

Derek puts the container away in the basket before he grabs the kites and follows Stiles. The shape of the kites don't show up properly when they're flat, and it's only when the kites are up in the air that Derek realises Stiles has bought him a kite with a wolf's face, and Stiles' own kite is a full on fox, arms and legs flapping in the wind.

"Aren't they awesome?" Stiles asks, laughing when he sees Derek's expression.

"They're definitely something," Derek replies, shaking his head.

Stiles tugs on the kite string, sending his fox at the wolf sharply.

"If you tangle the strings, you're untangling them!" Derek warns him.

"You're just saying that 'cause you're scared of my kite flying skills," Stiles says, smirking.

Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles, then wraps the string around one arm before tugging sharply, the wolf hitting against the fox. Stiles cries out, holding onto his string more firmly so his kite won't fly away. Derek laughs as Stiles tries to get his flailing wolf to fight back, and Stiles is cursing at him under his breath, but he's grinning broadly too.

The wind drops away eventually, and they go back to the blanket, Stiles pulling out a container of homemade peanut butter cups. Derek eats a few, but lets Stiles hog the container, Stiles seated between his legs as he talks about the leftover choc-chip peanut butter balls he's got waiting at home. Derek smiles and presses a kiss to Stiles' neck; he loves it when Stiles calls their loft _home_. Stiles turns his head to kiss Derek in return, tasting of peanut butter and chocolate. They pull away, breathing heavily, and the day suddenly feels a lot warmer than it did a few minutes ago.

"Want to go home yet, pip?" Derek asks, grinning.

"No, we only just got outside, Der-bear," Stiles whines with a pout.

"All right, but you'd better stop rubbing your ass against me like that, or else we'll traumatise people."

Stiles flushes red, realising that he was doing that motion without even realising it, and stills his hips quickly. Derek frowns a bit when he sees that Stiles is a bit red even after his blush fades.

"You forgot to put sunscreen on, didn't you, pip?" he mutters, reaching over for the bag to get the tube of sunscreen out.

Derek tugs Stiles' shirt off, setting it aside carefully before squirting a generous amount of sunscreen onto his palm and rubbing it into Stiles' shoulders and chest. Stiles relaxes into his warm touch, eyes closing as Derek makes sure to cover every inch of his exposed skin. Derek presses a kiss to Stiles' neck before rubbing the sunscreen on, then moves Stiles around until they're facing each other so he can apply the cream to his face gently.

"You're not going to fall asleep on me, are you, pipsqueak?" Derek asks in a soft murmur, his fingers sweeping across Stiles' jaw.

"Might," Stiles admits, turning his face into Derek's caress. "And don't call me pipsqueak."

"All right, pip. Come on, stand up and I'll do your back."

Stiles gets up with flailing and slippery limbs, but manages to do so without hurting either one of them. He turns so Derek can rub the sunscreen onto his back, shivering even though the breeze is warm. Derek turns Stiles and presses a soft kiss to his lips.

"Want to play Frisbee or soccer?" Stiles asks, settling back down on the blanket to wait for the sunscreen to start working.

"Soccer; I'd prefer not to have you throwing things at my head and knocking me out again."

"It was one time, and it was either knock you out of the way or let that damn Wendigo take a chunk out of your arm," Stiles grouses.

"I know, I was just teasing, pip," Derek murmurs, pressing a kiss to the palm of Stiles' hand.

Stiles pulls his shirt on and grabs the soccer ball from the bag, tugging Derek out into the sun with him. They kick the ball back and forth for a while, Stiles commentating and trying to run around Derek, laughing when Derek pulls him into a hug instead of trying to get the ball away from him, breathing out something about yellow and red cards before Derek kisses him, then darts past Stiles to get the ball again.

They end up back on the blanket, sweating, laughing, and breathless from their exertion, and Stiles collapses against Derek, dozing off while Derek stays awake and reads his book, arm wrapped around Stiles loosely. They stay there for the rest of the afternoon, Stiles' sleeping soundly and only waking when he hears a container being opened, and wakes up to see Derek eating the remaining half of his sandwich. Derek offers him the last of the sandwich, even as Stiles tackles him down to the blanket to steal his food back from Derek.

"You're lucky I made extras and left them at home for dinner," Stiles mutters, licking the mayonnaise from his thumb.

Derek brightens up at that and puts his book away immediately, standing to pack up the rest of their things as well. Stiles shakes his head, but helps Derek, not even protesting as Derek grabs his hand and tugs him back over to the Jeep, reminiscent of the way Stiles had pulled Derek to the car earlier that morning.

Stiles thinks it might just be the best start to spring he's had in years, and with Derek by his side, he's pretty sure it'll get even better still, no matter what comes their way.

...

End of word challenge.

Thanks for reading!


End file.
